nananamunsons

[nananamunsons]

I AM UNWELL

THANK YOU DIOR

[nananamunsons]

Chapter 3: All This Time Goes By, Still No Reason Why

Collaboration with my Eddie Munson sister wife, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: With the help of Robin and Nancy, you and Eddie realize how much you mean to each other, but a medical emergency may prevent either of you from admitting your true feelings.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst

WC: 5.2k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“It’s time to play the Family Feud!”

Click.

“Today on Sally–”

Click.

“There’s nothing good on,” you bemoan, flicking through the channels absentmindedly. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, a familiar dramatic voice rings out from the tinny TV speaker.

“It’s twins, and the two of you are the father of one each.”

Your fingers falter on the remote as you hear the events play out. Shelby’s sitting in a hospital bed, not unlike your own, one baby in each arm. The plot is so ridiculous, yet you can’t help but be drawn in. The only thing missing is a bucket of popcorn for you to chow down on.

And Eddie, you think miserably, swallowing the thought like it’s a dry pill. He would sit slack-jawed as the two lovers argued over which baby belonged to which man, making comments like, “did you see that?!” when he knows good and well that you’re sitting two feet from him and did, in fact, see it.

Dr. Drake Ramoray is about to announce the paternity test results when there’s a soft knock on your door.

“Can, um, can we come in?” You turn your head to see Mandy standing in the doorway, pushing a redheaded girl in a wheelchair. “This is Maxine. She’ll be your new roommate,” she explains.

“Yup, finally busted out of intensive care,” the girl deadpans, tilting her head to better hear the TV. “Is that Days of Our Lives?”

You give an embarrassed giggle, muting the show. “Yeah, sorry. Guilty pleasure.”

Maxine shakes her head. “No, put it back on! I love that shit. I didn’t have a TV in ICU, so I had to listen to my boyfriend read to me.” A blush creeps across her cheeks at the mention of her boyfriend, and she leans on Mandy as the nurse helps her into the bed. “He has a nice voice, though. So it wasn’t all bad. Better than listening to him argue with his friends about D&D.” Mandy laughs at that before excusing herself from the room.

The mention of the fantasy game is like a knife slice through your heart, but you shake off the thought. “That’s sweet of him.”

“Yeah,” Maxine nods. “Read all my favorites. Guess that’s how it’ll be for a while, until I learn Braille.” That’s when you notice that her eyes are cloudy, the blue irises not focusing in a particular direction. 

You’re rendered speechless for a moment, unsure how to respond to what she’s said. “I’m sorry,” you finally manage to choke out, wincing at how dumb you sound.

Maxine doesn’t seem to care or pick up on your embarrassment. “It sucks,” she says, “but I’ve got a good support system, y’know? And with the way everything in this town’s gone to shit, being blind doesn’t seem like too big of a deal.”

You assume she’s talking about the earthquake essentially splitting Hawkins into quadrants, destroying homes, businesses, and leaving far too many people injured or dead. You start to nod before remembering that she can’t see you. “I get it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not a big deal to you.”

She pauses before responding, contemplating what you’ve just said. “Guess so,” she mumbles. “I just feel guilty worrying about myself when other people are suffering even worse.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You raise your glass of water to your lips, feeling the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat. “Have they told you how much time you'll be stuck here?” 

She chuckles tersely. “Nope. They all keep saying, ‘a little bit longer, and you’ll be back home.’ But I don’t even know if I’ll have a home to go back to.”

“Where do you–did you live?” You shake your head. “That might be too personal, sorry. I’m just excited to have someone to talk to.” And it’s true. Ever since Eddie left a few days ago, you’d been alone with your thoughts. Never a good thing, especially when you’re feeling this sad and helpless, and the mundaneness of the hospital certainly doesn’t help.

“It’s cool. I lived over on Porter Street for a year or so before my mom and I moved into Forest Hills Trailer Park.” She gnaws on her lower lip as though waiting for your judgment. “But before we came to Hawkins, I lived in California.”

“Oh.” California. Where you and Eddie had made plans to run away to–though the sincerity of those plans were apparently up for debate. You want to ask her about it; if she’s ever been to Los Angeles, if she wants to go back, but the knot in your stomach urges you to shift the topic. “Your trailer–was it destroyed in the earthquake?”

“Not sure,” she answers honestly. “No one’s said anything to me, but that could just be to keep me from getting upset. But my boyfriend’s idiot friend–one of them, anyway–let it slip that my neighbor’s trailer got, like, split in half.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe out. “Is your neighbor okay?”

“Uh, I think so,” Maxine says. “I haven’t talked to him but my boyfriend said he was released from the hospital.”

“That’s good,” you say. “I mean, not that he was in here, but that he was okay to leave.”

“Eddie—that’s my neighbor—is staying with some friends, I think. Or friends of his uncle or something.”

The way your head snaps so quickly in the redhead’s direction makes such a loud crack that even she hears it, wincing at the pop. “Eddie” is a common enough name, but you can’t think of another Eddie other than your Eddie—or, Eddie Munson, that is—in all of Hawkins.

“Wait. Is your neighbor Eddie Munson?” you ask, voice quivering despite your attempt to sound casual.

Her eyebrows pinch together and her head tilts in your direction. “How do you—oh shit! You’re Sunshine, aren’t you?”

Your face heats up at hearing Eddie’s nickname for you. How did Maxine know about that? She’s already said that she hasn’t talked to him. Which only means she heard it from someone else. But who? Between the days dragging into one another and the cocktail medley of medications you’ve been on, you’re not sure if Eddie called you that in front of his friends or not. But either way, somehow it was going around in his friend group that he’d met you and coined that nickname for you. 

“I, uh, yeah, I guess that’s me,” you say. 

“Dustin was telling me about you,” she answers your unasked question. “He said you’re pretty cool and you and Eddie got along really well.”

“Yeah,” you say, heaving a sigh. “I guess we did.”

“Did?” Maxine asks, picking up on your tone. “Something happen?”

“We had a fight,” you admit. “We both said some pretty nasty shit to one another. Then he left without saying goodbye, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Eddie’s never been known for his impulse control,” Max notes wryly, but anything else she’s about to add is cut off by the sound of more voices at the door.

“Max!” It’s Robin, and she has a girl by her side. “Hey, it’s me and Nancy. Sorry we’re late; no one told us that you moved rooms–oh, it’s Sunshine!”

You blush at the second mention of your nickname. “Hi, guys,’ you say, giving a little wave. “How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain,” Robin puts her hands in her pockets. “But, really, we should be asking how you’re doing.” She glances over to her right side. “Oh, this is our friend, Nancy Wheeler.” Nancy gives you a soft smile, and you try to muster up one back.

“I’m okay.” you shrug. I had my first surgery yesterday, so I’m sore. Kinda nauseous from the pain meds. But other than that, I’m fine.” 

“She and Eddie got into a fight,” Maxine–Max–pipes up from the bed next to you. “He didn’t even say goodbye to her. Just…poof! Vanished.” She makes a little explosion gesture with her hands to emphasize her point.

Nancy presses her lips into a thin line. “Yeah, we heard,” she admits. “Eddie told us the other day. He, uh, he’s not very good at handling conflict.” 

“You can say that again,” you mumble, trying to hide your bitterness.

“He’s been different ever since he came home from the hospital,” Robin says. She pushes the curtain between the two beds as open as it would go and puts two chairs in between you and Max. She takes the chair closer to you and Nancy takes the one closer to Max. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“He’s been acting weird,” Robin says.

“How can you tell?” Max asks, a smirk on her lips as she gazes unseeingly at the ceiling. 

“Weird for him. He’s all broody and sulking. I mean, I get that the guy almost died, but he was in a much better mood when he was in here.”

All eyes—even Max’s—turn to you laying in your bed. It’s hard not to shrink under their gaze. You tuck your blanket up higher in an attempt to comfort yourself. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” Nancy asks, leaning forward to see you around Robin. 

“Yes,” you admit. “I thought we could clear the air before he left, but clearly that didn’t happen. Then I was hoping the phone would ring. Or maybe he’d just show up. Every time I was taken out of my room for tests or something, I’d always ask my nurse Mandy to watch in case he stopped by. This whole thing’s honestly just got me going crazy. I just want a chance to apologize and explain.”

“What happened?” Robin asks, but after a stern look from Nancy adds, “If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”

You take a deep breath and nod your head. The pain meds are still circulating through your system so you find yourself more willing to spill your guts to these girls you hardly knew. 

“You know how he called me Sunshine? Well, that ended up being a shit load of pressure. I mean, he didn’t really put it on me—I-I guess I did. But if I brought happiness to his day then I didn’t want to bring him down by telling him the news on my leg wasn’t good. This can be a pretty shitty place to spend day after day so I didn’t want to make it worse on him. 

But it’s not like he ever gave me a chance to explain any of this. Just assumed I was lying to him for my own sick enjoyment. Kept going on and on about how I was just like everyone else who ever made fun of him. And that really fuckin’ hurt. Then he called me—among other things—a bitch and I was seething. I was seeing red, spitting mad. So, I…well, fuck, I said something I really didn’t mean. It went too far and I regretted it the moment it came out of my mouth. I tried…I tried to tell him that. But he wouldn’t listen. Not that I entirely blame him. So, I told myself, I’d talk to him in the morning before he left. Then everything would be-be good.” 

You didn’t expect to start crying while talking about this—about Eddie, but your cheeks are covered in the wet proof that you did. You’re so flustered that you don’t even register Robin taking your hand in hers. 

“Let it out,” she reassures you. “You never told Eddie about any of this?”

You shake your head. “Everyone kept saying how happy I made him. I didn’t wanna be the reason why he’s sad.”

“I don’t think he would’ve been sad,” Nancy tells you. “Concerned, yes. But, I also understand you wanting to shield him from that.” 

“He misses you. It’s plain as day,” Robin says, and her words make you start crying even harder. She scoots her chair closer to you so that she can rub your shoulder consolingly. “It’s going to be okay. And I’m not the type of person who is just going to say that to make you feel better. Actually, I tend to say the wrong thing when I’m trying to make someone feel better. But I genuinely believe this is just a misunderstanding you guys are gonna get through.”

“Yeah, if he ever talks to me again,” you say with a sniffle. 

“He will,” Nancy says and she sounds resolutely sure in her answer. 

Robin and Nancy stay for a little over an hour, talking about people that you don’t know and places that you haven’t been, but you somehow still feel part of the whole conversation with them. It might be the medicine coursing its way through your body, but you feel a little emotional being in a group of girls like this. You hadn’t made a solid group of girl friends away at college, so you’ve been missing this kind of connection. 

Once Robin and Nancy leave, they’re not out the door for thirty seconds before Max pounces.

“You love him.”

“What?” You’re so taken aback by her statement that you can’t come up with anything else to say. No point in asking who she’s talking about, since the only guy you knew in their whole conversation was Eddie—and Steve and Dustin a little. But you’d never even thought those words to yourself about Eddie before. Obviously, you found him attractive. Very attractive. And he’s so kind and funny. It’s addictive spending time with him; you always want more. Your stomach flip flops as you come to the realization. 

Holy shit. Max is right. 

“I know I’m right,” Max says.

Color draining from your face, you turn in her direction. “What?”

She chuckles and shrugs her shoulders. “Knew you were thinking about how right I am. I’m right about most things. Just ask my boyfriend.” 

A frantic knock on the door has Eddie hoisting himself up from where he’s slumped down on Gareth’s couch, which is now his makeshift bed. Since he’d been discharged from the hospital, he and Wayne have been crashing there. It’s a nice place; much fancier than the trailer, but it’s not his home. The steaming cup of cocoa that Gareth’s mom made for him reminds him of the shelf of mugs in his own home, now utterly destroyed. 

Bet Sunshine could make tonight better, he thinks glumly. She made everything better. The knocking gets louder, snapping him from his pity party. “Coming, coming!” Eddie grumbles, tossing aside the quilt and padding towards the door. 

He’s nearly bowled over by Robin and Nancy, who eagerly push their way into the living room. “Um, come on in, I guess?”

“Cool, thanks,” Robin says, plopping down in an armchair. “We need to talk to you, like, now.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Robs. You make it sound like an emergency.”

“It is an emergency,” Robin protests. “A love emergency!”

“Lucy, Ethel!” Eddie interrupts. “Can you get to the point, please?”

Nancy grins as she delivers the news. “We saw Sunshine today,” she says, watching as Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. “Max is her new roommate.”

“She misses you, and she is so, so sorry,” Robin jumps in. “She told us that she was going to talk to you the morning after your argument, but you’d already left.” She frowns. “Did you really leave without saying goodbye?”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “I fucked up. Bad.” He stands up, pacing the room. “But so did she! She—she threw the murder charges in my face! Like it was nothing.”

“She knows,” Nancy says. “And she feels awful about it.”

“And she lied to me,” Eddie adds. “I mean, Buckley, you were there when Harrington said there was a spark. How could there be a spark if she’d just been lying to me?”

Robin breathes out, sharing a knowing look with Nancy. “Eddie,” she starts, “she felt a lot of pressure to keep up this happy, optimistic façade for you. She thought that if she told you what was going on, you’d worry about her.”

Eddie barks out an incredulous laugh. “Of course I’d worry about her! When the people you lo—care about are going through shit, you worry about them!”

“Well, did you tell her about the Upside Down?” Nancy presses, leaning her chin on her palm. 

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s crazy, and unbelievable, and pretty fuckin’ scary!”

“Yeah, well, the stuff she’s going through is pretty fuckin’ scary for her, too,” Robin explains. “And just like you wanted to protect her, she wanted to protect you.”

“Jesus.” Eddie breathes out a long sigh. “What can I—how can I fix this?” A misty film coats his eyes. “I never meant to make her feel like she couldn’t talk to me about her problems.”

Nancy puts a polished hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I think you should be telling her this,” she says kindly. “Maybe bring her some flowers?”

Eddie perks up a bit at the thought. “Yeah! Yeah, I can do that. Maybe I can go next week, when I’m cleared for longer car rides.” The trip home from the hospital was painful enough; each bump in the road sent shockwaves through his scars. 

Robin smiles. “I think she’ll love that.”

“Never thought I’d be taking love life advice from Lady Wheeler and Video Girl,” he muses. 

Robin shrugs, clearly not offended. “Better than from Steve,” she says simply. 

It’s only been about two weeks since Eddie’s been in these halls, but being able to walk them of his own free will and knowing he can turn around and leave at any time he likes certainly makes it better. Making the familiar walk to his old room, Eddie wrinkles his nose at the scent of antiseptic and whatever disinfectant they use to clean the floors. How did he ever sleep in this place? Bells and alarms are going off every other minute. Eddie feels like he’s going crazy and he’s only been in the hospital for three minutes.

Small bouquet of Sunflowers in his hand, Eddie takes the elevator to the correct floor, then turns right down two hallways, and he’s finally at the room. Before raising his fist to knock, Eddie takes a deep breath to compose himself. He wasn’t sure how he’d be feeling seeing his Sunshine again after their fight, but the correct answer to that would be anxious. He gently knocks on the door frame and pokes his head into the room.

“Who is it?” Max asks, talking to you, Eddie presumes. Or maybe to him, wanting him to announce himself. 

“It’s, uh, me,” Eddie says, taking a step into the room. “Um, Eddie.” He glances over at your bed, hoping one quick look would steel his nerves to look at you head on. But he does a double take when you’re not in the bed. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Max says. She breaks him out of his confused haze and he steps around the curtain to see her. Considering all that the girl had gone through, she doesn’t look too bad. Casts are still covering the multiple bones that had been broken, but her unseeing eyes were by far the most unsettling. It caused a pit in Eddie’s stomach to know all that she had endured and all she had tried to shield her friends from had landed her here like this. 

“How’re you feeling, Red?” Eddie takes a seat next to her bed, your flowers still clutched in his grip.

“So bored,” she says with a sigh. “There’s shit to do around here. I have to listen to everything. Can’t watch anything, obviously. Can’t touch anything ‘cause of these damn broken arms. Only other senses I get to use are my sense of smell to inhale the lovely aroma of body odor and hospital chemicals, and my sense of taste when I have to literally be spoon fed because my body doesn’t work.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says. “I’m thinking I’m lucky now that all I have are some chunks of skin missing from my one man show for some fucked up demonic bats.”

“I’m sorry,” Max says with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Just been stuck in my head today.” 

“No, no, I get it. But, uh…couldn’t you have talked to… I mean, where is, um,” Eddie stutters out.

“Your Sunshine?” Max asks, a mocking cheesy smile on her face. “Came to see your girl?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a sigh. A faint blush comes to his cheeks at Max referring to you in that way. “Where is she?”

“Her second surgery is today,” Max tells him. “They came and took her early this morning and I’m not sure when she’ll be back because they’ll take her to recovery first.” 

Eddie’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hands and he makes a conscious effort to take it easy so the stems aren’t snapped off when you get to see them. There’s a queasiness in his stomach as he thinks about you being in surgery right now. Unconscious, doctors working on you, scalpels cutting open portions of your skin. It gives him a full body chill. 

“Her mom is here somewhere. In the surgery center’s waiting room, I’d guess,” Max tells him.

“Oh,” Eddie says, suddenly becoming fidgety in his seat. He wants to go out there and find your mom, who will hopefully have an update on you. But he doesn’t want to leave Max all alone again. 

“Go,” Max says, as if reading his mind. “Just make sure you switch the television to something else before you leave. If I hear the news cycle one more time I’m going to claw my way out of these casts just so I can turn the channel myself.”

Eddie stands and flips through the channels until he settles on Wheel of Fortune. “How’s that?”

“Kinda hard to play along without seeing the puzzle, but whatever, it’s better than the news. Oh, uh, Eddie? Before you go, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, slipping his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

“No one will give me a straight answer. Maybe they don’t know or just don’t want to tell me, but I know you’ll have seen it. Is my home okay? I know my mom’s still staying there, but I want to know she’s safe.”

Eddie frowns and takes a few steps forward to gently place his hand on your shoulder. “Your trailer looks fine. Or, well, I guess I should say it looks the same. None of the trailers in Forest Hills have ever looked ‘fine.’ But yeah, your mom is safe there. No damage or anything like that.”

“Thank you,” Max says, releasing a sigh that’s probably weighed heavily on her for a while. 

“Sure thing. Hey, I brought some flowers. I’m gonna put them on Sunshine’s bedside table, okay?” He takes one of the sunflowers out of the bunch and snaps off the branch so he can stick it into one of Max’s twin braids. “Now you look like a real flower child.”

“Can’t hold my fingers up in a peace sign, but okay. Yeah, I’ll tell her the flowers are from you if she comes back in here after you’ve left. Glad to know there’s actually flowers in here though, because I smelled them and thought it was some new cleaning product they were trying.” 

“Thanks, Red. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Eddie asks as he sets your flowers down.

“Wish I could say the same,” Max says and Eddie winces at his phrasing. “I’m messing around. Go find your Sunshine, lover boy.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Eddie whines.

“Fine. Romeo? Lovebug? Casanova?”

“Jesus, just call me Eddie,” he says with an eye roll. He shouts a goodbye over his shoulder as he heads out of the room. 

Eddie makes his way to the waiting room, rubber soles of his worn Keds squeaking on the linoleum floor. He recognizes your mom from their brief encounter the day before he left, and he gives her a tight grin. 

“Um, hi,” he says. She gives him a confused look, and he realizes how different he must look, freshly shaved and in his normal clothes. “I’m Eddie. Sunshine’s old roommate? And, uh, the one who called her Sunshine, I guess.” He ducks his head bashfully. 

Your mom’s expression softens as she recognizes the boy. “Of course! Sorry, it feels like my head is spinning, waiting for the doctor to come out with an update.”

“How long has it been?” Eddie asks, taking a seat next to her. 

“Too damn long,” She chuckles lightly as she glances at her wristwatch, letting out an exasperated sigh. “About four hours now. They said it shouldn’t take too much longer than that…”

As if on cue, Dr. Sanoj hurries into the waiting room, fingers clasped together. A knot forms in Eddie’s stomach; whatever’s going on can’t be good. 

“I have an update on your daughter,” he says to your mom. “We could speak somewhere private, if you’d like.” His gaze briefly shifts to Eddie, who shoves his hands in his pockets shyly. 

But your mom is firm when she shakes her head and says, “no, he can hear this.” 

“Okay,” the doctor begins. “The surgery was successful, and didn’t take too long at all. There are some complications, however; possibly due to having two procedures done so close together.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie interrupts. 

“We’re having some difficulty waking her from the anesthesia, and she’s spiked a small fever,” Dr. Sanoj admits. “There’s no real cause for concern yet. We’re just going to have the nurses continue to take her vitals.”

Eddie feels your mom’s fingernails dig into his wrist, but he doesn’t complain. It feels good, in a way, to know that he can be there for someone in their time of need. “Can we see her?” she asks the doctor. 

He nods. “Yes, of course. You can follow me into the recovery room.” They’re both right on his heels as they make their way down the white corridor. Neither of them say a word, but the fear is palpable. 

“You can go in first,” your mom offers. “I need to make some phone calls to relatives and friends. Just let me know if she wakes up, please.” Her tone is hopeful, but Eddie can still sense the anxiety beneath it. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state twists Eddie’s heart. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the tears on his cheeks. Pulling up a chair to your bedside, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently. 

“Sunshine, can you hear me? If you can hear me, please wake up.” He leans over, placing the back of his free hand on your forehead. “Shit, you’re burnin’ up. Small fever, my ass,” he grumbles. He’s always been suspicious of doctors, and he doesn’t trust that this isn’t more serious than the surgeon let on. 

“Listen, Sunshine,” he starts. He’s not sure if you can even hear him, but it’s worth a shot. “I’m really sorry that I made you feel like you had to pretend to be happy all the time. That’s never what I wanted. I guess…I guess I figured you’d tell me if something was wrong. Sounds kinda dumb now that I’m saying it out loud.” He gives a small laugh. “And when I found out that you’d been keeping your surgeries a secret, I thought it was just you pushin’ me away. But now I know it’s because you were just tryin’ to protect me.

“And, look, I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I’m loud, and impulsive, and I couldn’t pass geometry if my life depended on it. I have no idea what I’m doing after high school, and I wish I could blame the earthquake for that, but it’s all me. Also, in the spirit of honesty or whatever, remind me to tell you the truth about that earthquake thing,” he adds, bringing his thumbnail to his mouth and chewing on it anxiously. 

“Sunshine, you’re, like, this beautiful ballerina with these big plans and a heart of fuckin’ gold. And if–when–you wake up, if you decide to never speak to me again, I’ll understand. I mean, I’ll be devastated because, y’know, you’re kinda my favorite person in the whole world, but I’ll get out of your way. But, please, please wake up. I can’t have you dying before you even get a chance to live out your dreams.”

Eddie stops, cocking his head slightly to watch your chest move up and down with each shallow breath. You start to sputter, and his heart lurches at the prospect of you hearing his words and waking up to them.

But the sputtering gets more violent, and one of the many machines connected to you starts to beep loudly. A swarm of nurses infiltrates the room, nudging Eddie out of the way.

“We need all visitors to leave,” one of them tells him, even though he’s clearly the only other person there.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Eddie calls out as he’s being guided out of the door. “Is something wrong?” He watches as they pull out a defibrillator, attaching the adhesives to your chest before starting it up. He wants to stay and be there for you, even if you aren’t aware of it, but the door is closed behind him.

“You can pull through, Sunshine,” he whispers. “You’ve gotta pull through.” Not many sounds reach him on the other side of the door, and Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that as he paces back and forth. He’s hardly keeping together when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Eddie?”

He lifts his head to see your mom walking towards him, a confused frown pinched on her face as she approaches. It’s the sight of her that has the impending tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Eddie, what’s going on? Why’s the door closed?”

Wringing his hands in front of him, Eddie halts his pacing. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. The longer his silence drags on, the more concerned your mother looks. 

“I’m not sure, really,” Eddie says. “I was in there with her then machines started beeping and they kicked me out. They brought some other machine over to her but then I couldn’t see anymore because they closed the door.”

“W-What?” Your mom looks around, seeing if there are any doctors or nurses around that can explain what’s happening to you. She almost bangs on the door but she doesn’t want to interrupt whatever they’re doing in there to help you. “What’s happening to my baby girl?”

Eddie’s eyes were misting over before, but at the heartbreaking tone of your mom, tears start to trickle down his face. He doesn’t know what to do or say. What would you do in this situation? Taking a wild guess, Eddie opens his arms to your mom, who instantly takes him up on the hug. Her head rests on his shoulder and it’s not long before he can feel her tears soaking into his shirt.  “She’ll be okay,” Eddie says. “She has to be.”

--

taglist: @thebrookemunson, @mystars123, @h-ness1944, @hazydespair, @ajkamins, @aysheashea, @jasminelafleur, @brittney69, @arsonfrogger, @brassreign, @lunarzstarz, @aftermidnightwriting, @justtryingtobecreative, @micheledawn1975, @kailynn-exe @afunkyfreshblog @fangirling-4-ever @crimsonsabbath @babyexpertlampskeleton @whenshelanded @ches-86 @acmbooksfilmtelevisionandreads

[nananamunsons]

Over the last 3 years, I’ve drawn 250+ pages of my webcomic but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve drawn less than 25 drawings of my characters outside of that…

[nananamunsons]

turtle dove and the crow

You’ve known Edward Munson since he moved into the farm next door with his uncle - eight years old, odd, and utterly intriguing to you. For ten years, you’ve known him, and over that time, he’s become your best friend. But now, in the dreamy haze of August heat, you begin to know him in a different way. And in this process of knowing and becoming known, lives will be irrevocably changed.

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

chapter tags: 18+. oral (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue | playlist

PART ONE: THE HOLE IN THE LEAVES (15.1k)

(by the way, this part can be read as a stand-alone if you just want the best-friends-to-lovers smut without any angst. 🙃 there will be both smut and pain in subsequent parts. also, please ignore typos, I'll be editing after I post. enjoy!)

And the sweat will roll down our backs

And we’ll follow animal tracks

To a tree in the woods

And a hole in the leaves we’ll see

The bright baby eyes of a chickadee

Animal Tracks — Mountain Man

“Mama!” 

Your call flattens in the August heat, weighed down by thick, humid air and the drone of the cicadas chirping outside the open window over the sink. You cup your hands around your mouth to make sure she hears you; you don’t want her to accuse you of galavanting if she finds you gone. “I’m gonna take Guinnie out now!”

You drop your hands and wait for an answering call, scrambling to pick the broom up where you’d leaned it against the wallpaper as you hear the brisk shuffle-thump of her footsteps approaching the kitchen. She appears in the archway, hands on hips and eyebrow cocked. “Y’finished sweepin’ yet?” She asks you, turning a discerning eye to the floorboards to search for any errant specs you may have missed.

“Yes, mama,” you reply obediently, knowing better than to even think of sassing her. You know if you sass her, there’s no way you won’t end up confined to your room for the remainder of the day, less supper and having foiled your own plans before they’ve even begun. “I was just looking to take Guinevere out to the field with a blanket and my book now I’m finished with my chores for today.” 

Her discerning eye flicks from the spotless floor to you, and you resist fidgeting with your dress's cotton skirt under her sharp gaze, which lingers for a moment before she humphs. “Fine, then,” she says, and you’re about to beam before she continues as if returning to a subject you’d been discussing before. “And I mean it, missy. Y'arent to go off with Wayne's boy anymore, y'hear?" She shakes her head in preemptive consternation. "Off in the woods gettin’ up to God-knows-what. It ain't appropriate at your grown age.” The irrythmic tapping of her foot and the exaggerated hunch of her back as she leans toward you would be almost comical if it wasn’t for the injustice of the accusation.

You purse your lips but swallow your indignation when one of her brows goes skyward— a clear warning. “No, mama,” you concede. “I’m just goin’ to read by myself, I swear it.” You widen your eyes hopefully. “Would it be all right if I fill a canteen with sweet tea to take with me? Please?”

Your mother straightens slowly, face twisted as if considering, and you nearly sag in relief as her hands leave her hips and she folds her arms beneath her ample bosom instead— a clear indicator that she’s easing now. “That’d be fine,” she says, and the snap is gone from her voice. You lean the broom carefully against the island counter and spin to quickly collect your tea from the icebox and the canteen from where it hangs near the screen door. 

As you sling the canteen over your shoulder along with your knapsack, you hear her mutter, “Speaking of, that boy desperately needs a haircut.” She squints at you. “Think y’could convince him to trim that mop? Wayne’s been tryin’ for years, and he only seems to listen to you.”

“Oh, no, mama,” you say sweetly, hands clasped behind your back as you face her, edging in tiny steps back towards the door— that screen that stands between you and freedom. “I couldn’t possibly.” Blindly, your hand finds the handle, and she's still eyeing you as you turn it and slip out. 

Unimpressed, she humphs, but the screen door is already snapping closed behind you. “Be back before sundown!” she shouts, but you’re already bounding down the back porch steps. “I will!” you call, but the cicadas have already drowned you out as you skip toward the paddock. “Thank you for the tea, mama!”

Your mother is a woman of few mistakes, but she’d made one today. She told you you’re not allowed to see Eddie, and you’d sworn to obey her, and that was that. But her mistake lay in not asking you to show her your hands. 

Because she made you swear not to see him, but she hadn’t see your fingers crossed behind your back.

You haven’t spoken to Eddie yet today, but you know exactly where he’ll be. 

He’d called to you this morning; you heard it through your cracked window, white embroidered curtain swaying as the cackle of a crow cut through the early morning heat that was yet to fully settle in. You knew what the sound was right away: the call you’d come up with together five summers ago that meant to check the stump. You glanced toward the open door across the hall, the room beyond its threshold empty and still. It’s a miracle you haven’t been caught yet, that none of the adults have cottoned on that the caw of the crow sounds an awful lot like a certain brash mischief-maker’s voice. You crouched down to the open window in your nightgown and coo’d your own answering call, the call of the turtle dove. Your musical voice is loud in your ears, but it needs to be in order to reach the red house across the way, separated by a sea of shorn grass and the thick wooden fence between. 

Over these five years, none of the adults have cottoned on that the turtle dove always answers the crow, either, and for that you’re grateful.

There was a pause of silence following your melodic coo. Your hair rustled in the slightest breeze whispering through the cracked window, puffing like a cool sigh against your skin as you turn your ear toward the opening and wait. You waited, and waited, oh, so patiently… 

And then you heard it: a quick and faint whoop-whoop of boyish delight that, like always, made you shake your head and snort.

Later that morning, you’d put the kitchen scraps out for the goats and edged alongside that thick wooden fence towards the gnarled stump that rests between your family’s farm and the Munsons’. It’s almost dead-center, nearly bisected by that wooden demarcation, but you claim a sliver more and never cease to remind Eddie of that fact. ‘It’s my stump,’ you declare, triumph in the corners of your smirking lips. ‘I’m just allowin’ you to use it out of the grace of my heart, Eddie Munson.’

This morning, you’d reached deep inside the hole, the one that’s rotted straight through to the other side. The one which, if you’d crouched to peek, would offer you an unobstructed view to the grass field of Eddie’s yard, identical to the one you occupy, differing only in its status as his homestead and not yours.

But you didn’t peer through that opening. Instead, you reached your arm in blindly up to the elbow, feeling around for the note you knew would be wedged inside. When your fingers brushed smooth paper, you pinched it and pulled it quickly back, casting a furtive glance around the yard to ensure you were still safe from watchful eyes. With nimble fingers you unfolded and read the note quickly before tearing it to shreds, cupping it in your palms and letting it free to be scattered in the wind.

The note had been memorized almost as soon as you’d read it. Its instruction was simple; you and Eddie have developed a sense of brevity in your message-leaving, writing only as much as necessary to communicate what is needed. Today, it had read, ‘three after noon, hop’s, creek.'

At three o’clock on the dot, you ride Guinnie out to the treeline and hang left, picking your way to the edge of Mr. Hopper’s property which just kisses the corner of the Munson’s farm opposite your family’s land. Eddie is already waiting for you there, nestled in the ferns, hand shading squinted eyes as he sits astride his horse Merlin. You guide Guineveire to meet him in a trot, but she ignores you when you pull the reigns to slow her, too eager to approach her friend. You sigh in exasperation but can’t help but smile when the two horses nicker softly and nudge their faces alongside one anothers’ cheeks.

They make a strange pair, these two. One gargantuan blue roan, his haunches coiled thick with muscle, downy gray and speckled with deep spots of dark to match his mane, tail, and socks; and one pale blonde palomino, stomping daintily as her cream ears flick when the other knocks her with his neck a bit too hard in his enthusiasm. Merlin and Guineveire— a mismatched pair, just like the ones who named them. Yet it little matters when Guinnie sways forward, leaning fondly against her larger companion and, incidentally, drawing you closer to the boy astride him. 

Eddie lightly kicks you in greeting once Guinnie makes a slow circle and comes to stand alongside Merlin rather than let her face be flicked by his tail, which twitches away the flies that came to investigate while he and Eddie waited for you. Eddie’s feet are bare and dirty, his trouser hems rolled sloppily above the ankle, and you grimace at him as you swipe dirt off the top of your foot where he’d left smudges on your bare skin. He interrupts before you can work yourself up about it, asking, “J’your ma make you sweep the whole house?”

“No, just the kitchen. I must be doin’ somethin’ right this week because she barely even fought me when I told her I was takin’ Guinnie out. And—” You lift the canteen near your thigh, shaking it so the liquid sloshes inside. “I brought us sweet tea.”

Eddie stares at the canteen with exaggerated rapturous relief, his reply a dramatic sigh. “Good, ‘cause I’m so parched I could drink a lake.”

So quick it’s almost automatic, you unthread the strap and pass the canteen over, watching as he unscrews the cap and throws his head back to gulp it in huge, desperate swallows. And he must be thirsty, because as you watch his adam’s apple bob while he guzzles the still-cold tea, you can see full beads of sweat dripping down the pale cords of his neck to disappear beneath the collar of his white work shirt. The top two buttons have been popped open for some hasty relief, the bottom hem still half-tucked into his trousers but rumpled now from heat and disregard, scrunched around his suspenders. You wonder how long he’d been waiting for you; sitting still like this for just a short while has already made the heat almost unbearable, and the sight of Eddie’s thick curtain of heavy, dark curls is enough to make even you feel hotter.

Eddie’s mouth pops from the canteen with a ragged gasp, lips blushed pink and shiny before they’re concealed behind a hasty swipe of his forearm as he wipes off his mouth and passes you back the canteen. You take a small swig yourself, careful not to let any spill on your dress as the sweet liquid fills your mouth and cools you fractionally, not enough to truly combat the thick, hot soup of the air. Capping the canteen, you ask, “Did you bring our book?”

The answer is written in the sudden sheepishness of your best friend’s expression, and yours flattens as he confirms it. “Nah,” he says, more rueful than dismissive. “I forgot.” 

His brows pinch when he sees how clearly crestfallen you are to hear it; he angles quickly to appease your disappointment, adding, “But I did nip some of the cookies Ms. Willard left for Wayne.” You barely have time to brighten before he’s scrunching his nose, saying, “I think she’s actually sweet on ‘im,” like the thought makes him want to scrape the words from his tongue.

You swat at him, and Merlin chuffs disgruntledly when Eddie leans back to avoid you. “Stop that!” you chastise him. “I think it’s darling.”

Eddie is unrepentant, brown eyes lit with the hazy gold of afternoon sun that glints in them mischievously as he doubles down rather than relenting. “It’s disgusting. I might chuck if I have to think about them all wrinkled and bumpin’ uglies.” Before you can retort, he tilts his face at you, coaxing in a sing-song, “The cookies are lemon and lavender— your favorite.”

Your lips fall open in delighted surprise as you anticipate the crumble of tart lemon and sweet, earthy lavender on your tongue. Such a treat truly is your favorite, and mama never bakes so indulgently except for special occasions. Eddie beams at you, his mouth split in a fond, lopsided smile at the sight of your happiness, and his smile washes away any lingering reproach you feel at the insinuation that Ms. Willard would carry on in such an inappropriate way with Wayne. She may be aged and unmarried, but she’s still a lady.

It takes a moment to realize that, in your enthusiasm, you’ve begun wiggling your hips, the hem of your dress pulled tight over the saddle as more bare leg inches out when you swing your feet in little kicks of glee. You realize it when you watch Eddie’s eyes dart down to your exposed calf for a split-second and then back up to your face, his broad grin softening to something stickier, something forbidden and decadent like the cookies he’d stolen for you to share. 

It’s not the first time Eddie’s looked at you like that this summer. His gaze has been lingering a little too long for some time now, his fingers a little too eager to graze and tease, his breath skating a little too close along your cheek when you’re alone. And when you’re not, he’s a little too eager to position himself beside you when you’re seated at the table with others, to shout and cackle and make himself big so you’ll look at him across the room at a party, to act the fool in front of crowds of townsfolk if only to hear you giggle, however slight it might be. 

Not to say that his manner is entirely new. He’s always been a handful since the day he moved in next door ten years ago— wild and frenetic, brash and mischievous, quick-witted and imaginative, restless and wanting and oh, so hungry for something, only heaven knows what. It took no time at all for you, at eight years old, to befriend the odd boy on the farm beside yours. There was something about Edward Munson that appealed to you. He was too much for many, but he was never too much for you— to handle, to temper, to thrive beside. And because you were the only one who Eddie felt truly understood him, he’d quickly become covetous of your attention, and you of his. You wanted to know him, and he wanted to know you. And over years of playing pretend, celebrating birthdays and running errands in town, exploring the landscape beyond your farmsteads and rescuing one another from boredom, sadness, and the ire of your adults— giving just as much as you receive— you feel you know Eddie Munson as deeply as one friend can know another.

But the attention Eddie has paid you lately is not the same as it’s been in years past. You feel that difference in the pit of your belly when his eyes catch yours across the room, in the tingling of your skin as his fingertips graze it incidentally, in the flutter behind your ribcage when the sun shifts and the softness of his nose or the slant of his jaw or the ruddiness of his knuckles looks suddenly more captivating than it had the moment before. But it’s not the sun that’s made it so; it’s not Eddie’s features that have suddenly changed. It’s a feeling inside you, growing restless and wanting and oh, so hungry for something that both thrills and scares you in equal measure.

So when Eddie’s eyes hold yours a beat too long, you quickly look away, lifting one side of Guineveire’s reigns so she’ll turn from where she’d been comfortably lazing her head against Merlin’s. Your horse rouses, alert now as she feels the shift in your energy, the way your thighs tighten against her sides in preparation for what you have planned. “Come on,” you say, tossing Eddie a smirk over your shoulder as Guinnie snuffs in anticipation, hooves shifting against grass and fern. “I’ll race you to the crik.”

Any protest about unfairness from Eddie is drowned out by your joyous whoop as you snap the reins and Guinnie takes off like a bat out of hell. Merlin may be stronger than Guineveire, and Eddie more wild than you, but no one rivals you in conviction once your mind is set. 

You’ve set your mind to beating Eddie, and so you do. You beat him by almost a full minute, heart pounding and hair mussed as you emerge from the thicket to the welcome sight of the creek. Down by the bank on the right, a towering weeping willow steals all of the attention; its branches dip full and low over lazily flowing water, the edges of those leafy tendrils grazing its surface like a languid caress. You’ve been here many times before, sometimes with Eddie and sometimes without, and the sight of the ferns tapering to short clover in the clearing between forest and water and then to cattails at the bank’s edge is as familiar to you as the back of your hand. 

You’re suddenly glad to have beaten Eddie to the creek for a reason other than bragging rights: dismounting Guinnie exposes enough knee and thigh beneath your dress to thoroughly scandalize your mama, even with a copse of trees and two farm-fields between you. You don’t much care how unladylike it is to travel astride in a dress as opposed to sidesaddle— you’d rather hike up your skirt than try to navigate through the woods sitting so insecurely, but it does force you into a rather compromising position for a moment as you climb down. Thankfully, no one is around to see it, other than the chickadees trilling in the branches of the willow, the turtles sunning themselves on flat river rocks, and the bullfrog croaking inside a dead log at the water’s edge. You lead Guinnie over to the trunk of a nearby cedar, and you’re still tying her off when Eddie bursts from the trees, huffing and swiping errant leaves from his hair as Merlin wanders over toward you and Guinnie independent of his rider’s direction.

“Took you long enough,” you sass, pursing your lips against a smug smile when Eddie grunts sourly. 

Eddie swings himself down to the ground, his pale forearm flexing as he catches Merlin’s bridle to keep him from tossing his head impatiently. “Yeah, I know, I know, you beast,” he mutters, and though he glowers, there’s a touch of fondness in it, apparent as he smooths his hand so carefully along Merlin’s powerful neck. “You’ll be all snug next to your girlfriend in a jif. Just wanna get this saddle off’ya first.”

As if falling into a practiced routine, you and Eddie prepare your lounging space for the afternoon. He tends the horses while you clear rocks and twigs to lay down the woven blanket in your knapsack. Wordlessly, you take Guinnie and Merlin’s saddles from him, laying them across the mossy boulder at the edge of the clearing; wordlessly, he passes you the canteen and the paper bag of cookies, and you carry them over to the blanket, laying them in the clover nearby. You’re watching how the light plays through the leafy canopy above you, casting shadows that dance on the weave of your blanket when Eddie lopes up from behind, brushing past you in a rustle of cloth and a blaze of body heat before flopping down unceremoniously onto his back in the middle of the blanket.

Your voice comes indignant and quick at the sight of his filthy toes. “Ed, your—”

With a jolt, he snatches his feet up where they’d been threatening your blanket, shimmying himself down until he can bend his knees and plant those filthy toes in the soft clover instead. He tucks his hands under his head, closing his eyes and nestling in with a contented sigh as you lay out much more carefully beside him. As soon as you’re prone on your tummy, skirt fanned across your calves and elbow grazing the side of his buttoned shirt when you prop your chin on your fists, you’re eyeing him expectantly. Your gaze roams his peaceful face, unconcerned about the tick in his brow as you demand, “Tell me a story.”

Eddie cracks his eyes just barely to slant you a glance, and their umber is nearly concealed by his long, dark lashes as he drawls, “Can’t a man who’s spent the whole day breakin' his back take a moment to rest, you pesky woman?”

You’re entirely unphased by his snark. “Firstly,” you challenge him, “you spent a good part of the day futzin’ around on your guitar, and don’t you try to argue the point ‘cause I heard you playin’ over the fence. And secondly, you’re the one who forgot to bring Don Quixote. I wanna hear a story about knights and dragons and princesses, and it’s your responsibility to deliver,” you finish haughtily. 

Eddie sighs heavily, pretending to hem and haw just to get a rise out of you. It doesn’t take long for his frown to melt into a grin when you play along, kicking your feet in the air and raising your voice to be heard over his griping. “And now you gotta put in a giant and a windmill just ‘cause you’re vexing me!” 

“Fine, fine, Christ Almighty,” he relents, and you drop the charade immediately, walking your elbows over to angle toward him for optimal listening, your eyes trained on his pale face. 

 Almost effortlessly, Eddie begins to weave you a tale about knights and dragons and princesses as his eyes go far away, watching the puffy-clouded sky, and your eyes go gooey and soft, watching him. His gaze flicks to yours when the giant and windmill each are introduced, his plush lips curling when you smile at him, inordinately delighted that he’s humoring you even though he always does. The buzzing hum of August’s voice sings along as he regales you, the sounds of the forest a welcome melody to accompany the theatrical accents he gives to each character. 

The longer he goes, the more animated Eddie gets, and it’s almost— almost— enough to forget just how hot it is today. While the creek offers some indirect relief, cooling whatever slight breeze occasionally wavers through the fronds, the humidity and sun are formidable beasts, palpable and oppressive as they crowd in against you and Eddie both. Eventually, Eddie’s gesturing and facial expressions grow visibly weaker as his bangs begin to stick to his glistening skin and sweat pools in the hollow of his throat. The dampness pops along your skin, too; the nape of your neck begins to itch, and when you swipe at your upper lip, the heel of your hand comes away wet. 

It’s clear when Eddie’s voice cracks that it’s time to take a break. Your dress's fabric clings uncomfortably to your skin when you twist to grab the canteen, passing it to Eddie first, who takes two conscientious sips before promptly handing it back so you can loosen your sticky tongue and soothe your own throat. You snatch up the cookies next, your stomach growling as you see the evidence of their decadence— the bottom of the paper bag has grown dark as it soaked up their butter, making your mouth water with anticipation. You reach eagerly inside to pull out two cookies, passing them into Eddie’s waiting palm before taking one of your own.

You nibble as you sit up, crossing your legs underneath your skirt, your knee pressing into Eddie’s hip as tart lemon and earthy lavender burst within your mouth, the cookies more dense and sweet than you’d even remembered. You don’t stifle your moan of satisfaction as your head tips back and sags in bliss, lips puckering so you can keep chewing though they want to smile. 

“That good, huh?” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, warm and teasing, but you don’t bother to reply, entirely taken in by your favorite flavors. Instead, you just nod and impulsively stuff the entire cookie in your mouth.

The rasp of Eddie’s barking laughter has you huffing amusedly through your nose in turn as you dig in the bag, swallowing a little prematurely but resolved in savoring this next one. You eat the second cookie much more slowly, gazing out at the creek as it undulates in little swirls of blue and green and white, unrelenting in seeking its way around whatever may jut into its path— a branch stuck between rocks, a tangle of leaves caught in strands of rivergrass near the shore. It’s a comfort to see it flow so steadily, endlessly churning and ever-changing, but nevertheless a reliable constant you can return to time and again.

The second treat tastes just as good as the first, and you lick the crumbs from your fingertips as you glance down at Eddie once you’ve finished. He has eaten his cookies lying down, one hand propped beneath the splay of his dark wild curls and the other resting on the flat of his tummy. In between them, marring the white of his half-unbuttoned shirt and stuck against the skin exposed by that gaping triangle, is a conspicuous heap of golden-brown crumbs. The mess is entirely unsurprising, considering how sloppy Eddie often is, but the result is no less distasteful for it.

You scrunch your nose and lean over him, planting one palm in the space his bent elbow makes beside his ear and briskly swiping the other along cotton and damp skin. Your chuckles color your admonishment as you exclaim, “Sit up if you can’t help but make a mess of yourself! You’re such a pig, I swear—!” 

 Eddie surges up, capturing your wrist in a grip light enough to break if you were to want to. “Take it back,” he says warningly, and when he tilts his head this time, the glimmer of mischief in his eye tells you it’s not to coax you. A thrill alights in your chest at the promise of the game, the way his long fingers circle your wrist so easily. 

A giggle squeaks out of you before you declare loudly, “Never!”

Your gleeful shriek echoes off the willow and the cedars, the creek and the clover as Eddie grapples with you playfully. You try to fist one of his suspenders with your other hand, but the attempt puts you at his mercy; he uses that advantage to bully you down flat to the blanket, though even in this semblance of roughhousing Eddie’s attempts are light and easy, nowhere near the latent power coiled in his biceps from years of chopping wood in winter, tilling earth in spring, and hacking hay in fall. Husky chuckles rain on your skin as you squirm and wiggle in his grip, not really trying in earnest to escape until his hand leaves your shoulder and dips instead to your waist, fingers digging with devilish precision into the most ticklish parts of you.

Your glee turns to desperate gasping and involuntary, wheezing giggles as Eddie tickles you mercilessly while you try harder to buck away from his touch. Your attempts are entirely ineffectual, and the sensation of his deft fingers writhing against your ribs and the soft of your waist coupled with the stifling heat of his body where he has you half-pinned beneath him to keep you from escaping, have your face utterly burning with discomfited hysterics. He doesn’t let up until you call for mercy, though at the first stuttered “St-stop—” that falls from your lips, his fingers immediately cease their cursed torture. Boneless, exhausted, your head tips back against the blanket as you heave for air, the fuzz in your head from lack of breath slowly dissipating as Eddie’s palm drags firmly and briskly up and down your waist, rubbing away the residual ticklish sensation almost contritely. 

Once you’ve gotten your bearings and recovered your senses, you realize that while Eddie has stopped tickling you, he hasn’t moved from his position half on top of you. His belly presses into yours with each breath, firm and solid just like the rest of him, and you can smell the evidence of the August day clinging to his dark curls where they’re pinned against your nose: the sour tang of sweat, the earthy snap of tobacco smoke, the natural musk of his body, and, beneath it all, the scent of wild rain, of summer wind and petrichor, subtle but heady like an approaching storm. That feeling within you stirs, awakening at the press of his solid weight across your ribs and breasts, but the heat of him, while in some ways welcome, makes the heavy August humidity edge beyond extremely uncomfortable to utterly unbearable.

You express your discontent with an exaggerated shimmy of your shoulders; Eddie stirs, grunting as you make his resting place unpleasant to continue resting on. “It’s too dang hot for wrestling,” you gripe, “get offa me, you big oaf.”

Eddie’s head pops immediately from your shoulder, his nose nearly brushing yours as he pins you with a wide and eager stare. The gleam in his umber eyes should alarm you, but all you feel is that stirring inside again until his breath ghosts over your lips when he declares proudly, “Then let’s go swimming.” 

His face shines like it’s the best idea he’s ever had, but exasperation floods to stifle that warm stirring within you. Eddie pouts when he sees your face contort skeptically, pink lips poking petulantly at your immediate resistance. “Eddie,” his name is mostly a sympathetic sigh, “I can’t. My mama would roast me alive, you know that.”

Your best friend’s eyes narrow at your tone, and you suck your lips into your mouth almost apologetically, knowing Eddie really doesn’t like it when you treat him like he’s simple. The remorse fades when he quirks a brow, glancing down at the slick skin of your throat and collarbone exposed above your neckline before teasing, “You’re already roastin’ alive. You’re sweatin’ like a whore in church.”

Your indignance is instant and fierce. “Edward Munson! Well, I never—!” You shove him bodily off of you, and he lets you, rasping with easy laughter as he leans on a palm to the side of you, looking down at your burning face with a smirk. 

Eddie is smirking, but you know he doesn’t mean to call you a whore, that he only really says things like that because he likes to goad these reactions out of you. And you’d keep playing his game— keep being angry at him— if it weren’t for the way the light was filtering through the leaves, playing on his frizzy curls and lighting them beautifully amber at the edges. If it weren’t for the way his collar had fallen further open when you’d been roughhousing, exposing more of his pale chest as it bunches around his suspenders, making him look more like the cover of some two-cent romance novel than the sloppy farmboy he’s always been. If it weren’t for the way he's looking down at you— you lying prone on your back with him beside you, towering over you from your vantage point, with that sharp jaw and the plush curl of his lopsided smirk and the veins popping on the forearm he’s braced on, his skin flushed pink beneath the rolled sleeves of his white shirt. 

Your anger dissolves at the sight of these things, and if it had remained, perhaps this next conversation would have gone differently.

You lean up slightly, your eyes sliding from your best friend’s face toward the scenery behind him. The slow journey of the creek’s water over rocks and sticks, the soothing sound of its trickle and flow, the sight of those willow leaves dragging against its smooth surface… 

It looks so mouthwateringly refreshing.

With the lack of your anger comes mournful regret. “I can’t go home soaking wet,” you lament, and your tone makes your internal conflict clear.

Your eyes slide reluctantly from the creek back to Eddie, and you see a peculiar look cross his face. “I mean,” he says, hesitating for the briefest moment, “we could just take our clothes off.”

You blink at him, thrown entirely for a loop at the outlandishness of that suggestion, rendered mute as you try— and fail— to process it. In your muteness, Eddie keeps talking, as if he’s working it out to himself while he speaks. “Yeah. Ya know, that could actually work. Could swim for awhile, cool down, get out, dry off with the blanket.” He grins. “Bet we’d even air dry in no time in this heat.”

The proposition is absurd. It’s entirely inappropriate, and just… just lying there, staring up at Eddie’s face as he leans over you, makes your skin feel suddenly too tight for your body. You sit up abruptly, folding your knees and wrapping your arms around them. When Eddie clocks the look on your face, he huffs, his voice going a little sharp in his defense. “What? What's wrong with that? We've been friends for ages; I’d say we’re way past the point of gettin' embarrassed.” He snaps and points at you, shaking his finger as he gets on a roll. “‘Member when you came to me all upset because you bled through your dress and had to turn your apron around to keep your ma’ from seeing? I even helped you get the blood out. Didn’t I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to confirm or deny before continuing smugly, as if he’s got you beat, “And I showed you that nasty wart on my toe when you asked me to, even though I really didn’t wanna. See? Like I said, no reason to be embarrassed.”

You’d stopped listening at the mention of his wart, craning your neck to try and see his foot where it’s tucked against the clover over the edge of the blanket. “How is that now? Is it still there?” you ask earnestly. Eddie just snuffs a wry breath through his nose; his curls sway as he shakes his head. 

“Uh-uh. Already showed y’once, I’m not doin’ it again. Plus, you’re provin’ my point.” He smiles at you crookedly, digging his toes further into the clover to hide them before eyeing you smugly. And you can’t fault his logic when you’d walked right into it like that. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you reluctantly agree, to which he adds,

“Plus, s'not like I haven't seen you nekkid before.” 

You can’t help but scoff at that. “Yeah, when we were, what, eleven? It's different now.” 

The smugness on Eddie’s face melts; his eyes fill with that stickiness from before, like when he looks at you a little too long. His voice a quiet murmur, Eddie asks you, “What makes it different now?” 

The question could be answered easily enough. Because we're grown. Because you're a man now, and I'm a woman, and it wouldn't be proper. But after this summer's changes, and with that feeling awakening in the pit of your belly— wanting, yearning, hungry— you can tell that it's more loaded than that. Suddenly, the air feels heavier than it was just a moment before, thicker with something other than summertime humidity as you stare into Eddie’s umber eyes. Nervousness dances along your limbs, but it’s not that terrified kind of fear— it’s closer to anticipation.

Rather than answering the question directly, you avoid it, lifting your chin to reply as nonchalantly as you can, though you feel anything but. “Fine.” 

Eddie’s eyes bug out. “R-Really?” 

His immediate shock makes you rush hot with embarrassment, feeling caught out and self-conscious. Your voice bursts from you in defensive indignance as you drop your knees, crossing your arms tight beneath your breasts. “You cannot be serious. You're the one who proposed it, Ed!” 

He scrambles to keep you from getting upset, brow pinched and eyes wide in a different way. “No, no, I…” He flounders for a moment, looking at a loss. “I just didn’t… I didn’t think—” 

With a sharp shake of his dark curls, face scrunched as if to clear the cobwebs from his head, Eddie cuts himself off. He blinks at you silently for a moment, finally saying, somewhat more hoarsely, “We can do it. I wanna do it.” 

You watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob as his eyes scan quickly down your cotton dress, lingering in your lap, though the swaths of fabric conceal even the innocent outline of your legs. A pulse of heat tingles low as his gaze sweeps over you, and you resist the urge to jam your hands down to cover yourself, feeling exposed though there’s nothing to see. Fiercely, you warn him, “Just keep your back turned ‘til I get in the water, or I'll whoop you." 

Eddie snorts loudly, countering, “You really think you could whoop me?" 

“Yes,” you snap back sassily, your faux-confidence deflating slightly as you add, “...if you let me.”

You smile at the warm chuckle he rewards you with, but when Eddie starts peeling his suspenders down, your heart seizes in your chest. The anticipation feels a little more like fear now that you’re confronted with the reality of what you and Eddie are about to do. You pop to your feet, rocking on your heels and fidgeting with your fingers, and Eddie’s brows jump when he looks up and registers your nervousness. Your voice wavers slightly as you ask half a question, letting it trail off into implication. “Are you gonna, um…?”

“Yeah, no, yeah,” he says quickly, scrambling up and wiping his palms on his trousers. Haltingly, cheeks pink, he rushes, “I’ll just… I’ll go behind the willow. Meet you in there.”

“Yep,” you say, the word bitten off a little too short in your awkwardness. “‘Kay.”

“‘Kay,” Eddie echoes, shooting you a sheepish smile before hurrying off in that direction. Only once he’s ducked behind the willow trunk does the hammering of your heart begin to calm, that nervousness settling back to anticipation, though it’s a little queasier than it was before now that there’s nothing technically stopping you from preparing to swim.

You kick off your shoes first— the simplest to remove— and, with a deep breath, you begin to undress. 

With trembling fingers, you undo the buttons on your dress and peel the sticky fabric from your arms and decolletage. Your silky chemise comes next, and you aren’t sure whether to be grateful or rueful that in the summer, you’re wearing so few layers. It’s an odd sensation to feel the sun on every part of you— the small of your back, the valley between your breasts— as you fold your chemise and neatly tuck it between the bodice and skirt of your dress to maintain modesty before laying them both on the blanket. 

And that’s it, then. The chickadees titter in the branches, the turtles sun themselves on flat river rocks, the bullfrog croaks in the dead log at the water’s edge, Merlin and Guinnie nicker gently at the edge of the clover clearing— and in the middle of it all, you stand there, buck-naked as the day you were born.

It feels distinctly uncomfortable at first, being naked anywhere but in your bedroom or bathroom back at home. You half-suspect your mama to come barreling out of the trees, ruddy-faced and angry as the devil to drag you back to the farm by your ear and lash you, both with words and with papa’s belt. But as the seconds tick by, and you begin to settle into the feeling, the weak breeze that wavers the fronds whispers along your sticky skin, tickling you pleasantly. You look towards the creek— the whole purpose for your nakedness— and you begin to covet the sight of the flowing water, to imagine how it will slither against your ankles and knees, cradling your body in cool refreshment. Discomfort eases; eagerness at the thought of that relief takes its place.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to stray to the thick trunk of the willow overhanging the creek. You imagine Eddie behind it and begin to ponder all sorts of questions. What does he look like underneath his clothes? Is he lean? You’ve seen the muscles on his arms and back earlier this spring when he’d take off his shirt to work in the field as the weather got warmer; you couldn’t see much, though, as you had nary a birds-eye view from your distant bedroom window, and no way could you have chanced trying to peep over the fence. You find yourself wondering now, Are his thighs as muscular as his arms seem to be? Are his calves? Do the freckles across the bridge of his nose echo on other parts of his body this late in the summer, maybe on his shoulders? 

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him bare— seven years, give or take— and you know you can’t reliably compare what you’d seen then with what he looks like now; Eddie’s more man than boy lately. The nature of your wondering changes. What does a bare man look like, anyway? You’ve never seen one. Naturally, a question follows: Has Eddie seen a bare woman before? 

That wondering flusters you, and you can only begin to think about why before heat is rushing to your cheeks and you need to abandon the thought. Unconsciously, you go to smooth your skirt, but your hands hit the flesh of your thighs instead, unencumbered by clothes. You glance down and your breasts are there, sloping gently from your chest, your nipples soft in the warm humidity. It makes you wonder how Eddie’s chest has changed, whether he has hair there now. It can’t be thick if he does, or you probably would’ve seen it from the window. Does he have hair any other places? You suppose he probably does, since you’d grown hair under your arms and between your legs when you reached your maturity, too. You only barely conceive a thought about what lies between Eddie’s legs, and that flusters you so thoroughly that when you press your palms to your cheeks, your skin feels hotter than you imagine the surface of the sun must be.

You wonder then if Eddie is thinking about you and how your body has changed in the same way that you’re thinking about him. It makes you self-conscious to picture him imagining you beneath your clothes, drawing his own conclusions about your shape, and then glimpsing the truth of what your clothes conceal. No one has seen your naked body except for mama and your older sister, who couldn’t give two hoots what you look like, and the thought of someone looking at you and being disappointed in what they see is a crushing thought. Not that you think Eddie will see your body, really, but you can’t help but—

A sudden whoop, wild and boyish, startles you out of your thoughts, and with a blur of pale flesh and dark curls, Eddie takes a running leap into the creek. 

The dramatic smack of Eddie’s body against the water has you bolting for the willow tree, your hands colliding with rough bark as you peek around it, beratements hissing through your teeth. “What a reckless, stupid idiot you are, Eddie Munson!” The words are cutting, but the crinkle of your brow and the squeezing of your chest bely the true meaning behind them. Your breath catches as beats pass without any sign of him, anxiety rising until his head bursts from the surface of the water, fixing you with a waterlogged but manic smile as you peer at him from the other side of the trunk, body shielded from his view.

The only way you could possibly convey the depth of your vexation and relief is by childishly stomping your foot, and you do just that. “Gosh darn it!” you shout, face all screwed up, “You’re so—! Ugh!” You stomp again. “You coulda hit your head on a rock and drowned!”

Eddie ignores your shouting, dark curls plastered to his cheeks that round with the force of his joy. “Git over here!” he calls, “It feels like heaven in here!” He laughs raucously, disturbing the water as he swishes his arms through it in boyish delight.

Seeing his joy and yearning for that refreshment for yourself, you put aside the tightness of your worry for him. “Turn around!” you call, and obligingly, Eddie straightens and does, showing you the plane of his pale back and the wet tendrils of his drenched curls covering his shoulder blades. “And no peeking!” you tack on, snorting as you hear him slap both palms over his eyes, though the gesture warms your heart nonetheless.

You edge down to the bank, keeping one hand on the willow’s trunk as you test your footing. The bottom of the creek bed is a little slippery with stones but mostly soft with peat and algae, and the water feels so rapturously cool on your ankles that you sigh audibly in relief once both feet are in. You wade further toward the center of the creek until the water reaches the tops of your breasts, at which point you finally toss a glance in Eddie’s direction again. 

Even with a few feet of distance separating you, knowing Eddie is naked underneath the water has your nerves churning up again; you duck down so that the cool water covers your clavicle, making sure your breasts can't be seen before you finally call out to him again, much more quietly now with your proximity. 

“Okay,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip, “you can stop covering your eyes. My virtue is protected,” you joke, though it comes out a little more tremulously than you had hoped. 

Slowly, Eddie’s jutting elbows straighten as he drops his hands from his face, and your eyes dart over everything you can see— the chapped ruddiness of his elbows, the veins in his arms, the bend of the skin at his waist as he begins to turn around. And then you’re just looking at his face as it emerges— the curve of his ear, the darkness of his hair, normally a frizzy stormcloud around his head but now flattened silkily against his jaw; the hollow shadow between his jaw and throat, the softness of his nose, the beads of water clinging to his dark brow. 

And then, all at once, Eddie is facing you. His umber eyes never stray from your face, not glancing for a peek of exposed skin, though you’ve ensured barely any can be seen, just the tiniest sliver of the tops of your shoulders, plus your neck and face. Not much he hasn’t seen before. Nevertheless, he doesn’t try— doesn’t attempt to look below the water to see what your bare body looks like. He’s a gentleman, perfectly adhering to your instruction not to peek, but you can’t decide if you’re more relieved or disappointed by his compliance. 

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of the creek flowing between you as you look back at Eddie. He's taller than you, and he isn’t hunched; he’s standing tall, seemingly unconcerned about you seeing what flesh is exposed above the water. Your eyes glide over the water running off the ends of his curls and down his pale chest, making little ripples when they slide into the creek where they belong. You remain composed until you notice the dusk of his nipples beaded with water, hard and puckered in the water’s chill. Your eyes widen slightly as the sight awakens that hunger again, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind in an effort to keep him from noticing your reaction. 

“Oh, my word, this is so refreshing!” you say, perhaps overly enthusiastic, your smile a bit too broad as it aches in your cheeks. “Probably the best idea you've ever had, in fact. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Eddie’s brow twitches in confused amusement at your exaggerated cheer, but he blessedly decides not to comment apart from saying, “Think that’s the first time you’ve ever willingly apologized to me.”

“Mmm…” you pretend to deliberate, wobbling your head back and forth. “Yeah, maybe,”you reply, chuckling to lighten the mood. 

But your laughter weakens, going a little uneasy as Eddie wades closer, head tilting like a curious hound. “You didn't get your hair wet,” he observes, and you glance up like you’d be able to see it atop your head. 

“I don't wanna get my hair wet, Eddie,” you say, an edge of warning in your voice already. Because you know Eddie Munson, and you know that, though the observation had sounded entirely innocent, those umber eyes are already gleaming with mischief.

“Awww,” he goads, and the word goes husky with laughter as he sees the alarm on your face, the way you tense warily as he edges closer. “Come on, turtle dove. You gotta go under.” 

“No, Eddie.” You attempt to be firm, glaring at him in an attempt at intimidation. “It'll mess it all up and it’ll never dry in time—”

“Here,” he says lightly, disregarding your protests as his smile goes wolfish, “I’ll help you—”

Quick as a copperhead strike, Eddie makes to grab for your arms. But you’d been prepared for this— you dodge backward, squealing and splashing him directly in the face. 

Eddie halts and sputters, running his hands roughly over his eyes and dragging them down the expanse of his face. And you know— you know— with how Eddie’s wolfish smile goes manic and wild when it’s revealed again that now, you've really done it. 

Desperation drives you as you begin to scramble backward, wetting the ends of your hair in your haste to get away. He pursues you almost languidly, with a sense of confident assurance that has you crumbling and grasping for your final defense, which is to declare shrilly, “Edward Munson, don't you dare. I swear on all things holy—”

When Eddie lunges for you, you know with a sense of certainty that you won’t be able to escape the cage of his hot hands as he traps you, holding you firmly around the upper arms. In fact, you don’t even try very hard at first— you just let him grab you, freezing in his grip as if in hope that your compliance will convince him to take mercy on you. But then, with a bright grin of triumph, Eddie begins whipping his head side to side, shaking his curls to coat you with water like a dog. 

You brace your palms on his chest and push then, crying out in dismay as you feel the droplets rain down on your hair and face. “Eddie!" you protest, but as you squint at him, you begin laughing— laughing at how silly he looks doing that, laughing at the fact that he could’ve easily shoved you under the water but has chosen to do this instead. You're laughing, and then Eddie starts laughing, your voices overwhelming the sound of the cicadas as they bounce off river rocks and cedars, filling the August air with your shared joy.

Eddie is still holding you, still shaking his head, though more slowly now, as you suppose he’s likely getting dizzy. And this becomes one of your games— you press your palms harder against his chest and his fingers tighten around your upper arms, pulling as you push, keeping a careful equilibrium in maintaining distance. 

You maintain distance until, with the river water and sweat combined, your slippery hands slide on his chest. 

One moment, you’re pushing and he’s pulling, equally and carefully matched in strength to continue your game. The next instant, before you can think or react, you’ve lost purchase. Eddie has no time to think or react, either; not expecting that sudden lack of resistance, he tugs you bodily against him. 

Suddenly, his hot skin is everywhere, slick and firm and soft all at once. A ragged gasp rips from your throat as you’re overwhelmed by sensation: your hard nipples rasping against the dusting of hair on his chest, your nose now smushed against the hollow of his throat, the entire length of your body buzzing with the utter foreignness of feeling someone else's bare skin touching your bare skin. And there's something else, something inexplicably hotter than the rest of Eddie’s body, somehow hard and silky soft all at once where it presses between you against your belly. You’re uncomprehending for only a fraction of a second before it becomes very obvious what it must be.

Oh.

Oh.

You spring apart from him at the same time that he releases you, no more than a second after the impact, though it had somehow felt much longer than that in the moment. Your face floods with searing heat as you stare at him, barely registering the look of wide-eyed, visceral horror on Eddie’s face as your heart pounds in your ears. His mouth is moving, but you don’t hear it— you’re consumed by the feelings flooding your body, reeling from shock and mortification but also from dizzying, fluttering euphoria. Because that feeling inside you— the one that hungers for something more with the boy standing across from you, who's still blathering something you can’t hear— has now had a taste of what it yearns for. Liquid heat pools low in your belly, pulsing much more intensely than the typical tingle you feel when thinking about Eddie in this way, rushing up to buzz through your body until your pupils dilate and you burst with heady need.

Eddie’s dismayed rambling eventually becomes discernable above the pounding of your heart. You register distantly what he’s saying— “I'm so sorry, oh fuck, please, i-it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—” but all that matters is that he's babbling, hysterical, face contorted and fingers fisted in his curls in a way that must be painful. And how can you talk to him like this? How can you even begin to think when he’s yammering on in such a way?

So you stomp forward, grab the back of Eddie’s neck and yank his face into your outstretched palm, which clamps over his lips. “Eddie Munson,” you huff, ignoring the way his lips feel against your palm as he keeps trying to speak, though you suspect it’s more in befuddlement now than remorse as his eyes are wide as kitchen saucers. “Would you just shut it for one dang second?” 

All at once, Eddie’s stifled speech ceases, and his lips grow still against your palm. You sigh, relieved to have finally put a stop to that noise, but the look on Eddie’s face pierces you, holding you fast.

He looks terrified.

Eddie looks more scared than you’ve ever seen him, his brow scrunched up tight, his eyes so dismayed that they appear glassy with unshed tears. It pierces you deeply to see him looking at you this way, tugging behind your ribs until your chest aches like the deepest bruise. Your brows marry in the middle, crinkling up as your eyes go big and soft and sad for him. “Eddie,” you whisper, cracked with compassion at the sight of his distress, though fear and longing have knit you up just as tightly inside. And though you let go of the nape of his neck, you don't pull your palm away from his face. Instead, slowly, tentatively, you shift your hand to Eddie’s cheek, dragging against his warm skin in a slow, crawling path as he stands stock-still, watching you like a deer in headlights. You pause for a long moment, just holding Eddie’s cheek, before your trembling thumb lowers, petting featherlight along his cheekbone.

It’s not something that can be explained away by one best friend attempting to comfort another after a mortifying accident. Your thumb traces Eddie’s cheekbone once, twice, and then again, prodding against the boundary of your friendship in a way that cannot be ignored. Stroking Eddie Munson’s cheekbone is the scariest thing you’ve ever done because on the other side of this choice can be effusive bliss or rending sorrow, and nothing in-between.

Your breath is shallow as you wait for Eddie to react— to say or do something, anything, to indicate what he’s thinking. Because he doesn’t look scared anymore, but you can’t place the look on his face, either. You’ve never seen it before. And then slowly, as if he’s half afraid to move and shatter the illusion, Eddie’s hand emerges from the surface of the creek, droplets running down the length of his forearm and falling in little ripples back into the water as he reaches up and brushes his fingertips so gently, so lightly, against your collarbone. It’s a graze of skin you can barely feel, but you tremble nonetheless.

“Eddie,” you whisper again, but compassion doesn’t crack your voice this time. 

Wanting does.

Eddie swallows thickly, voice hoarse and choked with the weight of what he is about to ask. “C-can I kiss you? Please?”

There is no hesitation, only sweet, euphoric relief when you nod, and then your best friend is kissing you.

Fluttering, dizzying desire bursts in your belly when Eddie slots his mouth against your mouth; all you can feel is warm wetness as his breath flows down to mingle with yours in your lungs. It isn’t tentative, or questioning, or timid when Eddie kisses you, grabbing up your face and moaning past your teeth as if he’s never wanted anything more in his life. Your fingers scrabble for purchase along his muscular shoulders, clutching slippery skin as you whimper and move your lips frantically against his. The heat of his skin and lips contrasts with the cool slick of the water enveloping your bodies from the chest down, and the sensation makes you break out in goosebumps that he soothes with restless stroking of his broad palms over your arms and back. You’ve wanted to touch him like this— be touched by him like this— so desperately that your bones cried out for it, and they sing in praise as Eddie hikes you up against him, kissing you insistently, crushing you so tightly to his body that it’s almost uncomfortable. But it’s exactly what you need— your breasts pressed up against his chest, your belly heaving into his as you gasp and kiss and lick into his mouth, brain fuzzy, body following only instinct. Eddie’s palms find the small of your back, clutching you close as he angles his muscular thigh between your legs. You whine, body electrified with the feeling of his hands pressing your hips forward until that place between your legs rubs against him, sparking delicious friction that seems to be the physical culmination of that hunger inside you, never before explored.

When you undulate your hips experimentally, mimicking the movement Eddie has coaxed you to follow, his palms leave the small of your back to pull you closer, wrapping you up in his firm embrace. With how tightly you’re pressed against him, you can feel that the hardness trapped between you is even hotter and stiffer now against your hip, and it makes that hunger flare in the pit of your belly, desiring more, more, more. You’re panting, overtaken as Eddie licks across your bottom lip, and you whimper; with shaky fingers, you reach down beneath the water, seeking blindly between your bodies until your fingertips brush against the very tip of that hardness. 

You stiffen in surprise as it jumps against your belly; abruptly, Eddie pulls his mouth from yours but doesn’t retreat completely. He continues to hold you, chest heaving, staring into your eyes for a dazed moment before his lips crack and his voice leaks out hoarsely. “Have you ever lain with a man?” 

Your cheeks heat at the brazenness of the question, but considering the position you’re in— pressed up against him, having just been rubbing yourself along his thigh and feeling his hardness dig into your hip— you suppose talking about this is far less brazen than you’ve already been today. Mutely, you shake your head. “Have you,” you ask, “with a woman?” 

After a moment, Eddie nods. Your stomach falls; you feel yourself grow sour with jealousy, and Eddie misinterprets the sudden pinch of your brow. “We don't have to,” he says quickly. “We don't have to do anything you don't wanna. Hear me?” 

He cups the side of your neck, gently, so gently, wetting the hair at your nape as his calloused fingertips brush there. His tender touch eases your sourness, and you think instead about his assertion, about the implication of what you could do with him— what you could allow him to do to you. And you know how it works. You've seen geldings mount mares before, however ineffectually; you know the wheres and the hows and the whens of it all, though your knowledge is all theoretical and in no part practical. 

But when you think about Eddie’s hot stiff flesh still pressing against your hip, about that hardness sinking between your legs, you can’t deny you’re curious. And with him… you feel safe. You feel cherished. And part of you can acknowledge how you've been yearning to know him in this intimate way for a long time.

Since the beginning of summer. 

Since before that. 

Maybe since always. 

“I want to,” you tell him, and at last, all the hesitation melts from Eddie Munson’s face. He smiles, and the stretch of his lips is sticky, forbidden, and decadent; the softness of his umber eyes is filled with simmering heat. Your best friend has been looking at you like this all summer, and you finally know what it means.

Eddie goes first, guiding you to the edge of the creek. As he does, little by little, the water recedes from your bodies, revealing more and more of his pale skin as he climbs out before you, planting his feet and holding out his hand to help you up after him. You set your smaller hand in his, and his grip is unwavering as you use what he offers you to climb out onto soft clover.

On the bank of the creek beside the weeping willow, you see all of Eddie for the first time. He is tall, lean, and still a little gangly in the length of his arms and legs like he’d been as a child, but far more solid now, with firm muscle from toiling on his family’s farm. His shoulders are broad, his neck strong, his waist narrow but padded with a healthy layer of soft fat that fills him out more than you remember. The hair on his legs and arms is sparse, same as it is on his chest, but it thickens near his belly button in a trail leading downward before spreading low on his pelvis. 

He’s at the very tail end of that transition from boyhood to manhood. And there's one part of him that's very much man— it's staring you right in the eye between his legs. Ruddy, curved, nestled in that dark thatch of untrimmed curls. You pulse with desire as you see it, heat tingling low as you shift on your feet; nevertheless, your eyes jump sheepishly from there to his face as if you’ve done something wrong.

But Eddie merely looks back at you calmly, allowing you to look at him. And when his eyes drag over your exposed skin in turn— over your breasts and soft stomach, your hips and pillowy thighs, over the curls between your legs, and even over the gentle curve of your calves where they meet your bony ankles— he looks so in awe over you that you resist the urge to cover yourself from his gaze, not wanting to take it from him.

You aren’t concerned about dirty feet or cookie crumbs when you lay with Eddie on the blanket again, the heat of his body radiating against yours as he stretches out beside you. When he cups your jaw to meet your lips with his, you relax into his touch with an ease that feels like passing through the threshold of your back door and feeling the weight of the world leave your shoulders.

Eddie’s tender touch feels like coming home.

As Eddie kisses you unhurriedly like he’s savoring every brush of tongues and smack of lips, your fingers wrap around his wrist where he still supports your head, thumb stroking against the firm veins on its tender underside. And he was right— it takes very little time for your bodies to dry in the heat, though the water in his hair lingers. Damp and cold, it brushes against your cheeks; you try to ignore the tickle, but after some time you huff sharply through your nose, pulling your lips from his with a wet pop. “Your mane’s a menace, Ed,” you say dryly, huffing again when he grabs the ends of his curls and tickles them across your neck. You scrunch your head to your shoulder, giggling through your protest. “Stop that! Be nice!” 

Eddie grins, sticky and thick again. “I am being nice,” he murmurs, dropping his hair and cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer as he descends on your lips more intently now. He rolls you over onto your back, and his hair becomes nothing more than a vague nuisance as Eddie’s kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, nipping and sucking on their path downward to draw out little breathy moans and sighs from you. He kisses from your throat to your clavicle, from the valley of your breasts to the edge of your ribs, his cold curls dragging against your nipples as he travels lower on your body. You watch him with curiosity as his lips trail over your belly button and down to your hips before he finally settles between your legs, which part only enough to make the barest amount of room for him. He glances up at you, thumb ghosting over your curls. "Can I taste you here?” he asks, eyes dark like liquid smoke, pupils nearly swallowing the iris. He stifles a groan in his throat as he looks back down, rasping, “Bet you taste so sweet." 

The suggestion feels distinctly naughty, and you rush with mortification at the idea, but above that is the hunger and the heat tinged with unmistakable excitement. “Okay,” you say, voice small, and Eddie rests his chin lightly against your pubic bone, folding his arms across your hips, very clearly ready to wait and follow your direction. 

Gently, he tells you, “If you don't like how it feels or want me to stop, just say the word, okay? I mean it.” 

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling in a smile as your chest flutters. “Okay, I will.” 

“Okay.” Eddie nods, his chin dragging against your skin as he unfolds his arms and looks down again. More hoarsely, he says, “You’re gonna have to spread your legs.” 

Slowly, you do, heart thumping as your thighs peel apart and you expose yourself to his gaze. You want to squirm in discomfort with how intently he’s looking at you, but the heat on Eddie’s face, the unadulterated excitement and want that shines in his eyes as his plush lips fall open, is undeniably thrilling. You suck in a tiny gasp when his breath ghosts hot against that intimate place, a whimper escaping at the anticipation of his mouth on you. And then there’s the faintest brush of his wet tongue, snaking just slightly between your lips; you hiccup and moan, thighs twitching against his shoulders.

“S’it ok?” Eddie’s voice puffs against your heated flesh, cooling the place he’d just licked, and you exhale shakily, pushing out your confirmation.

“Y-yes,” you say, and after a brief pause, Eddie licks you again, and again, moving his tongue more boldly with each pass. He tips his chin down, lengthening the strokes of his tongue, dragging low to high for the first time; he groans deep in his throat, and you jolt as it buzzes against your lips. “Knew it,” he mutters to himself, voice tight with desire, and you moan as he wiggles his face in closer to you, his nose parting your folds.

 It feels so good, his mouth on your special place; it begins to satisfy the hunger inside you in a way you’ve never felt before, not even when you’d dragged yourself against his thigh. You relax into the feeling as he laps at you, wet tongue broad and flat as it drags against your pussy, sparking pleasure with each pass. And the sight of his curly head between your thighs makes you bloom warm over your whole body, your belly buzzing for more, more, more. 

“Eddie,” you moan, unable to fully articulate your desire but attempting to in the way his name falls so hot and sweet from your tongue. “I want you, Eddie, please…” 

He lifts his face from between your legs to press feverish kisses up your slit to the top of your mound. You tense when he digs his nose into your curls and inhales there, breathing deeply against your hair and skin. A whimper eeks from your lips as you squirm inside with self-consciousness, legs tensed to remain still. You worry suddenly about how you must smell, how the August heat and the creek may have made you unpleasant in some way. But when Eddie’s chest rises and falls with a heavy, contented sigh, and he wraps his arms beneath the backs of your thighs, your self-consciousness fades; when he nuzzles against your curls, dragging his cheek along your mound so affectionately, you positively melt. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie murmurs, lifting his head to peek up at you. You push onto an elbow, and he kisses the pudge of your tummy as it folds when you sit up. Smiling softly, you tuck his curls behind his ear, touch lingering against the side of his face. 

“Yes,” you say, so light and delicate but oh, so sincere, “Eddie, I really want it. I want you to…” you trail off, biting your lip. His eyes darken. 

“You want me to fuck you,” Eddie says, voice hoarsened but also sticky and thick and sinfully sweet like honey. You rush with feeling all over again— shock at his language, mortification at the crudeness of it, but also thrilling anticipation that tingles low in your belly, mixing with the heat and tightening to an aching need. You nod, gasping, “Yes. Yes, I want you to do that.” 

Eddie’s moan rumbles low in his throat, and you feel it against your inner thighs where they’re pressed against his chest. He drops one last hasty kiss to your belly before unwrapping his arms from around you. You lay back against the blanket as he climbs up your body, spreading your legs so he can settle between them. Your brow pinching when he mounts you, his pelvis pressing flush with the juncture of your hips, and his hardness wedged between you. He stares down at you, and the curtain of his thick curls seems to conceal the two of you from the rest of the world; the cicadas and the creek fall away as you meet his eyes. Eddie’s face is flushed, his lips swollen and wet, but his eyes are wide with concern when he shifts his weight to one hand to stroke back your hair with the other. "It might hurt at first," he says, voice soft, and you nod.

"I know," you reply, and he traces the side of your face with his thumb before lowering from his hands to brace his weight on his forearms. You take a shaky breath as his belly brushes yours with his new proximity, your vision filled only with Eddie’s pretty face. 

"But,” he continues, “I'll take care of you, okay?" He shimmies his hands under your shoulders, tucking you closer to him, and as your bodies press lightly together, you can feel him trembling. "I'll take such good care of you,” he rasps, “Always will." 

Your breath hitches in your chest, lungs burning as you well up with some emotion. Not hunger, not desire, but something more poignant. Something soft, like the down of a feather. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” you say, and your hand trails up his back, tracing the warmth of his skin almost reverently as you lift your chin to kiss him softly.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes, voice wavering as he sways his hips, untucking one hand from beneath your shoulder to reach down between you. You spread your legs wider as you feel that stiffness shift, poking against you as he maneuvers it down to line up with your entrance.

Eddie kisses your lips so tenderly, and he pushes in slowly, so slowly, but nothing he could do could prevent the pain you feel when the head of his cock pops inside your entrance. He freezes as you gasp sharply at the intrusion, your lips clamping tight in a belated effort not to alarm him, though the crease in your brow tells the whole story. Eddie looks pained to see you pain; he rains kisses down on your face, and you tangle your fingers in his damp hair to ground you as he waits until you’ve relaxed to begin moving again. As soon as he does, though, the sharp sting returns; it continues as a burning and insistent pain while Eddie stretches you open in a way you’ve never felt before. 

He starts and stops as many times as you need until his hips are flush with yours and he’s seated fully inside. He’s panting, one hand fisted in the blanket as he tries to stay so perfectly still, wincing and murmuring against your hair, "Aw, hell… I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry it hurts… Don't wanna hurt you—" 

You whimper, tucking your face against his neck, and he strokes soothingly up and down your waist with his other hand until your body has adjusted and the burn has faded to a barely a pinch. You kitten lick the salt from his throat, and you enjoy the way he shivers. “I'm ready, now, Ed.” 

He lifts his head to examine your expression. “You sure?” 

“Yes,” you reply, and after a moment where his eyes dart back and forth between yours as if to check for any hesitation. He rocks his hips slightly, not pulling out, just testing to see how you respond to him moving. When you sigh with relief, he sighs with relief; when he rocks again, and you bite your lower lip, he swipes along his with a tiny dart of his pink tongue; and when you buck your hips up lightly against him, Eddie groans deep in his throat, a guttural sound of deep want that makes your chest rush hot and your nipples prickle up tight.

Eddie fucks you languidly in the heavy August heat, the chorus of cicadas blending with the soft moans and panting breaths you hush against one another’s faces. Your bodies slowly grow slick with sweat again as you move together, lips exploring lips, hands exploring skin, the steady, even rocking of his hips predictable and soothing. The slide of Eddie’s warm skin against yours, the rasp of his hair, the slick of his hot mouth against your lips, and the pressure of his hard cock inside you all build until you begin to tingle low in your belly again. As you sigh and whimper against his mouth, licking against his teeth, Eddie pushes in suddenly deep, pressing his pelvis tightly to yours and rotating his hips. Your breath catches as the head of his cock brushes against a spot that makes that tingling tighten. "Yeah?” he husks, his lips brushing yours, “That feel good?" 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, “please, don't stop.” Eddie keeps circling his hips slowly, pressing tight and groaning in satisfaction as you wrap your arms around his back, seeking to be closer. When you rotate your hips in time with his, his pubic hair rubs sparks against that sensitive spot above your opening. You whine open-mouthed, eyes heavy and glazed as you stare into his, rubbing your nose against the damp skin of his cheek. 

He nudges into your touch, murmuring, “You want more?” 

“Yes,” you pant. “More.” But when he stops circling his hips, falling still, you're quick to pout, protesting with a frown, “That's the opposite of more—” 

His hips jolt back and forward suddenly and sharply, and your back arches as he punches a moan out of you, cutting off your protest. He smirks knowingly as you cling to him, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on his sweaty back. He begins fucking you at this faster pace, a little rougher than before, and it is the more you wanted. It's more, more, more. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie grunts, “you feel so good inside. So tight and warm.” You whimper at his words, blooming with heat as he adds, “Wanted to do this for so long.” 

You manage a question even under the onslaught of his pounding, desperate as you are to know the answer. “H-How long?” 

Eddie’s hips falter slightly, continuing more slowly as his adam’s apple bobs. He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Since the Fourth of July party at the Byers’ when you wore that new dress.” 

You scrape your teeth against your lower lip, looking up at him with big eyes, and his head falls to your shoulder as he chuckles wryly, his hips stilling entirely. “Aw, hell. Y’look at me like that, and I can’t…” Eddie huffs, and you shiver as it puffs hot and damp against your neck. Without lifting his head, more quietly, he says, “Wanted to be with you like this ‘lot longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.” 

You burst with flutters at the revelation— low in your belly, high in your chest, tingling in your fingertips, tightening in your scalp. The feeling is hot and hungry, soft like feathers. You gasp a shaky breath to reply in a whisper that wavers with the depth of your emotion. “Me too.” 

Eddie’s moan is broken and vulnerable as he presses a hot, urgent kiss to your throat, trailing desperately up to your mouth. He cups your face, fingers pressing in against your cheeks as his hips begin to slap with fleshy smacks against your spread thighs, his cock moving hard and hot and insistent deep inside you. And more than ever before, that feeling— the hunger, the coil in your belly, the heat between your legs— is building to something new, something intense, something that looms over you as it begins to tighten and tingle between your hips. 

It scares you. 

Your hands flutter and tap at Eddie’s shoulders as you whimper his name differently from before. "Eddie. Eddie—" 

The urgency in your voice gives him pause, and his hips fall instantly still as he cups your face, tilting your chin up as his eyes dart over you restlessly. “What’s wrong, turtle dove?” 

Your heart leaps at the nickname, and he must see the way your eyes soften because his fingertips draw gentle and featherlight along your brow, a touch of comfort and reassurance. "I don't know what's happening. I feel... strange." 

His alarm is instant. “Does it hurt?” He asks, tinged with urgent distress. "Am I hurting you?" 

"No, no," you soothe your palm along his jaw, and he lists into the heel of your hand when you cup his cheek. His concern makes you rush warm with pleasure in a different way. "It feels… I think it feels good," you clarify, feeling strangely ashamed like you shouldn't be talking about this. "But it's just… odd, I guess." 

Eddie’s face softens to match yours. "It's okay, it's supposed to feel that way.” 

Uncertainly, voice small, you ask, “You promise?” 

Eddie pulls from your hand cradling his cheek to mash his nose to the side of yours, and the huff of his chuckle brushes sweetly over your lips. It's not exasperated or amused. It's nothing but fond. Almost, you’d say, if you didn't know better... almost loving. "I promise. Never led you astray yet, have I?" 

“Well—” you start to hedge, but when he pokes your cheek aggressively with his nose, you give up the game and giggle. “No, you never have,” you say, and it’s not teasing, not wry. It's nothing but fond. Almost, you'd say, if you didn't know better... almost loving. 

Something shifts then as Eddie begins to move inside you again. There’s a certain inevitability to it as his hips pound into yours, his cock pumping hard inside you as you rock your hips to meet him. “Wanna make you feel so good, turtle dove,” he tells you, and you drink in the sound of his voice. You feel dazed, drunk, almost, entirely caught up in the feeling of Eddie all around you, inside you, tangled not just with and in your body but also with your soul.

“It does feel good,” you tell him, voice soft and thick with feminine desire. “Feels so good, Eddie.” 

Your encouragement spurs him on; his hips pump harder, his breath harshening with the effort. The inevitability grows more imminent as you feel the evidence of his exertion— the slick of his sweaty chest against your breasts and his tummy sticking to yours, the way the unrelenting rhythm of his hips begins to falter just slightly. “I’m getting close.” You look up at him, and his eyes are wide and hazy, his bangs clinging wetly to his forehead— it’s pink, with one vein throbbing over his left brow. You’re thinking idly of licking along that vein when Eddie interrupts you with a husky question. “You wanna take my seed?" 

Caught up in him entirely, you can envision only one answer. You moan at the idea, nodding frantically. "Yes, please, please, Eddie—" 

He groans gutturally at your enthusiasm. "Shit, yes. Gonna fill you and fuck it up into you all deep—" 

You whine at the filthiness of it, the forbiddenness of it, but mostly with a deep yearning for him to possess you entirely, for him to spill inside and for you to know that, even when he pulls out of your body, some of him will linger for longer. 

Eddie’s forehead dips to yours, pressing against it lightly, and you pant into his mouth. You keep your eyes open and wide, wanting to see everything— every fleck of gold and brown in his eyes, every pore, every freckle, every strand of hair in his brows, every line at the corner of his eyes. Every tiny detail of his beloved face. You watch that face start to twitch and contort, and you thrill deep in your chest. “Ed, are you about to—?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… oh, fuck—” he whines into your mouth and you gather him closer, tangling your hands in his curls as he huffs and his hips press tight against your thighs. You swallow his stuttered groan like it’s the only sustenance you need as Eddie reaches the pinnacle of his pleasure.

There’s a burst of reciprocal pleasure low in your belly when you feel him pulse and spill inside you, and as the rocking of his hips slows, your burning need and pleasure fade to a pleasant buzzing warmth. You’ve not reached that pinnacle yourself, but you are content nonetheless as Eddie falls still, panting and spent in your arms. You are sweaty, hot, and sticky in a way that would, in any other context, have you grumbling and seeking relief. But here, with Eddie’s heavy weight on top of you, his arms curling around your body to hold you close to him, and his cock softening inside you, you couldn’t muster a grumble if you tried.

Eddie rolls you onto your sides but doesn’t relinquish his grip on you, and you hold one another other until his seed starts to leak between your thighs. You stir then, and he looks down at you as you glance towards your tangled legs, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “I should wash up,” you say quietly, and reluctantly, Eddie loosens his arms so you can rise and pad over to the edge of the water. 

You’re about to crouch to cup water in your palms when a broad hand finds the small of your back, the light touch almost reverent. “Let me,” Eddie says quietly behind you; you turn, looking up into his face as he offers to cleanse you of his seed. That poignant welling of emotion, soft like the down of feathers, fills you toe to tip as he gets on his knees before you, cupping water in his palms and gently washing your sticky folds until your skin has been thoroughly cleansed.

Eddie Munson washes you off between your legs in the creek, and it feels almost more intimate than having relations with him. 

When he straightens up, you make to walk back toward the blanket, but when he lingers near the water’s edge without following, you pause and look at him curiously. Eddie pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, fidgeting as his eyes flick between yours before the words burst out of him. 

“Y’know you're my girl now, right? If you wanna be,” he adds quickly, and the blush of his cheeks, the sudden sheepish nervousness in his expression tugs at your heart.

But it’s such a silly question— if you wanna be.

Of course, you wanna be his girl. You’ve coveted Eddie Munson’s attention since he was that eight-year-old boy, odd and awkward, gangly and wild, your new neighbor next door. You’ve yearned to know him and be known by him as deeply as a best friend can, and now you’ve begun to know him in a way that, somehow, feels even more right than that.

You’ve wanted to be Eddie Munson’s girl for what feels like your whole life, now, or close to it.

“Yes,” you say, sticky and sweet and so utterly enamored with the boy standing beneath the willow at the edge of the creek. “I’ll be your girl, Eddie Munson.” 

Eddie beams so bright and beautiful that your breath shudders in your chest, a poignant squeezing of your ribcage that only intensifies as he says with reverence, almost like he can’t believe it, “You belong to me, and I belong to you.” 

You kiss him again, wrapping him up in your arms as he sways you happily back and forth. You wish it would last forever, but with a lurch in your belly, you realize the light casting Eddie’s curls in a deep amber glow is more than golden now— it's edging on orange. Hastily, you pull against his grip, and he releases you as you groan with dismay, “Aw, hell, Ed. We gotta race the sunset!” You bounce on the balls of your feet, shaking your hands by your sides as anxiety tangles in the pit of your stomach. “Mama’ll skin me alive if I’m not back before sundown!” 

Eddie’s eyes dart to the sky, widening with equal alarm. “We’ll make it,” he says breathlessly, “I got the horses, just get your clothes on!” He lurches around the willow while you rush to the blanket to pull on your rumpled chemise and button your dress, smoothing your hair and slipping on your shoes just as he’s miraculously finished saddling both horses, already dressed. You’re impressed until you hurry closer and realize Eddie’s suspenders are twisted thrice each and his shirt is buttoned one-off from the top. 

You sigh and tug him closer by the trousers, and he stumbles as you briskly unwind his suspenders and rebutton his shirt. 

“Much obliged,” Eddie pants breathlessly, his lips curled in a delighted smile as you tend to him. His beam widens when you duck your head, going shy under the intensity of his gaze; Eddie cups your cheeks and kisses you wild and hard, leaving you dazed for a moment as he hoists himself deftly onto Merlin’s saddle. “Betcha I’ll beat you back,” he says, towering above you atop his giant horse— your best friend, roguish and mischievous, clever and brash, beautiful in the deepening light. 

A wicked grin blooms on your lips as you look up at him, grasping hold of Guinnie’s mane and cantle to pull yourself up smoothly beside him. “Betcha you won’t,” you counter, and with a squeeze of your thighs, you rise to the challenge. 

You ride Guinnie hard and fast through the forest, racing Eddie until you both burst together from the treeline onto the field at the edge of Mr. Hopper’s property. In the distance, you can see the tall fence that separates your farmstead from his, the red house that he calls home sticking from the earth beside the brown shingles of your own, in permanent company with one another. You expect Eddie to call the game over now, but he tosses a smirk over his shoulder at you, his curls whipping as Merlin rears and gallops on, spurred by a whoop of boyish delight.

Your legs will be sore tomorrow, and between your legs will be sore too. But as the sun sets on this August day and you ride through the fields, chasing the young man you cherish, and the bugs erupt in puffs like clouds from the tall grass, you’ve never felt so known, nor so damn alive.

[nananamunsons]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, drinking, mention of vomitting, rpf, fem!reader, eventual smut

Author’s note: we get drunk in this one! and, little side note: Mark's not the worst. Stupid, sure. But we love him still.

Wordcount: 4.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

Something was wrong.

The wedding shower looked great - people were chatting, drinking, laughing. Mark and Poppy were stood near the entrance to greet everyone who came in, to receive gifts, to welcome family and friends. Sometimes excited raised voices alerted everyone in the room when someone who said they wouldn't be able to make it walked in through the doors. There was hugging and there were smiles and Joe was happy, because Poppy seemed happy.

Joe found the best venue. The perfect place for a wedding shower. Not extremely formal, not too wedding-y. But nice.

Still. Something was off. It started with you showing up way later than Joe thought you would've.

Drunk.

Joe saw you enter from where he was stood by the bar. He'd been chatting to a colleague of Mark who had recognised him, and immediately had all sorts of questions. About being an actor. About the industry. About the people Joe worked with. All things Joe didn't mind talking about, but this was bad timing.

You'd just walked in, with half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile, and you were quick to sling both your arms around Poppy. You let your body fall into her fully, and Joe saw Poppy stumble back at the surprise of having to unexpectedly carry your full bodyweight. You slurred some things into her ear, things that made her look at her fiancé with a worried glint in her eyes.

Looking at the two of you hug, Joe realised he could still feel you in his arms if he thought about it long enough. The way you just... fit him so perfectly. Had relaxed into his hold so readily. You'd only sobbed maybe twice before your breathing had steadied. He fixed it. Sort of had to, Joe thought. He'd asked you a question that he hadn't expected such an emotional answer to, and he'd regretted asking it the second he saw you well up.

He'd done that. Was responsible for that. Felt awful for it, too.

How could Joe not have hugged you?

It had been such a short, quick thing. Effective, though. You'd stopped crying just as fast as you'd started. The moment had been so small, but definitely special.

To Joe, at least.

But Joe knew he was on thin ice. Joe remembered your shared moment in vivid colours, but he also remembered the fact that Poppy breaking it up by her loud knock on the window had made him feel like he'd been caught cheating.

Ever since then, he'd been riddled with conflicted feelings.

Needed to make sure he kept distance. That he wasn't going to fuck it all up.

So he made sure that this party was perfect. Perfect venue, perfect bar staff, perfect DJ and perfect guest list. Even the lighting! Brightly coloured lights, all pinks and peaches, no blue tones to be detected. Joe had thought of everything to please Poppy. To make sure she was pleased with him.

Joe saw how you squeezed Poppy until it hurt her, and then you didn't greet Mark at all. Instead, you beelined it straight to the bar where you ordered two gin and tonics.

Even though fucking gorgeous, Joe could see how you were staining this beautiful affair. A big dollop of ketchup on a pristine white shirt, and this party wasn't allowed any stains.

Why the fuck were you drunk already?

From a distance, Joe saw Mark clench his jaw as Poppy touched his arm. She seemed to tell him to calm down, or, something along those lines at least. To not pay you any mind, perhaps.

But you just necked a full glass and seemed ready to throw back the second one too.

This had disaster written all over it.

Joe had to step in.

Do something.

Mark's mother found you, and you greeted her warmly. She'd been talking to Poppy's mother, and since you were greeting and hugging already anyway, you also leant in to embrace her.

You and Poppy's mother had never hugged before, ever.

Joe saw from her face that it was a little unexpected. You really squeezed her properly before you let go and found the straw in your drink with your tongue.

Classy.

Where you'd just seconds earlier greeted the two mum's like they were your own, now, it was like they didn't even exist to you. You stood and looked across the room, eyes roaming, your mind somewhere else entirely.

"Excuse me," Joe said to Mark's colleague who was still talking to him, and he made his way over to you.

"Hey,"

"There he is," you slurred through narrow eyes, all exaggerated suspicion, and one of your hands wrapped around his forearm by ways of greeting. Nails dug in harshly, and your teeth did the same to your bottom lip as you frowned.

"What's going on, are you all right?"

None of this was normal. Not that the two of you ever were or had been, but, you were fucking plastered.

You had a hard time keeping your eyes straight, and there was something vengeful about you, Joe thought.

You shrugged, spat, "Ask Mark," before spotting Mark's brother over Joe's shoulder and quickly stepping around him to make your way over.

There was no hug for Mark's brother, but just a sloppy high five, followed by lots of giggles and spilt gin and tonic. You were barely able to keep your balance, and when Joe checked on Poppy and Mark, he saw they were watching you as well.

In fact, Joe took a scan of the whole room, and from almost all directions you had eyes on you.

You looked good, still. Banging body in a banging dress. You still smelled lovely, your perfume lingered, and you didn't have a hair out of place. Skin all dewey, all healthy looking... it did something to Joe.

You looked fucking amazing if you asked him.

But you swayed on your feet. Laughed loudly. Fell into the people you were talking to. Held onto them for balance. It was so clear that you were well past the point of being just a little tipsy.

Jesus Christ, was Joe going to have to ask you to leave?

Joe and Poppy made eye-contact, and she beckoned him with a nod of her head.

"She's pissed," Poppy said the second Joe stepped into earshot. Yea, no shit you were pissed.

"I'll go tell the bar staff to only give her mocktails," Joe said, already thinking of solutions, of how to keep the peace.

"No, she'll notice," Mark grumbled, and rubbed his face. He seemed annoyed.

"So go apologise," Poppy said, and Mark was quick to react, "I have! I have apologised! Like, seventeen times!"

Joe had no idea what was going on, but he used context clues. It sounded like Mark had fucked up one way or another.

"Make it eighteen," Poppy hissed and pointed in your direction.

Joe could see people around trying to piece together what was going on. A hushed conversation between the three of them, Poppy's extended arm pointed your way - this wasn't difficult to understand. They were figuring something out, and so, nobody interfered.

Mark sighed.

"She's too far gone, it's of no use now. Saying sorry won't do anything. It'll just kick things off again. I honestly didn't think she'd come tonight,"

"Mark, this is our wedding shower, of course she's here. Listen, I'm not going to let–"

"Don't put this on me!"

"I'm not, but, she's your best man!"

Mark and Poppy started bickering a little too loud for Joe's comfort.

"I'll," Joe spoke up loudly, shutting the two of them up instantly. "I'll take care of this,"

"No-" Mark started, one hand up to stop Joe, but Poppy shot him a glare and said, "Let him," and all Mark could do was sigh and let his hand ball into a fist that bumped Joe on the shoulder.

A look was shared between the two men. Joe thought it meant, good luck, but Mark wasn't really sure what he meant. He didn't know what he could've said that would've helped Joe before he turned and made his way back over to you.

Joe politely interrupted the conversation you were having. Mark's brother immediately helped out and diverted your attention to Joe.

"Come," Joe said into your ear, "Let's go sit somewhere,"

Compliant, you immediately followed, much to Joe's surprise. He wasn't going to let you notice that, though.

Joe lead you to seats near the short end of the bar, furthest away from the entrance. It was a little tucked away, but pretty much still out in the open. Mark and Poppy would have had to move just by a few steps to see around the bar, to see the two of you.

You fell into a seat. Nearly missed it. Joe had to reach and grab you by the arm to make sure you didn't topple over.

"Mark says he's sorry," Joe started, but said it all casually like it wasn't a huge deal, and it made you scoff at him.

"Mark can go suck a thousand dicks,"

Joe couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he signed for water to bar staff.

"I'm sure he could,"

"No, he fucking can't," you immediately argued, your face all scrunched up. "He wouldn't know what to even DO with a thousand dicks."

"Mmh, well, I don't..." Joe raised a shoulder. "A thousand is a lot of dicks, to be fair,"

Joe got handed two glasses of water, and held one out to you.

"Drink this,"

"Fuck off," you refused, but didn't put a lot of effort in when Joe forced the glass into your hands.

"Drink it." Joe said sternly.

So, you did. When you wanted to lower the glass after one small sip, Joe didn't let you. Using two fingers pressed to the bottom of the glass, he made sure you downed the full thing.

You gasped for air when you slammed the empty glass down.

"You're– dick," you grumbled.

"I– .... my dick?"

You thought it was stupid how Joe was humouring you. Like you were a toddler.

"Why are we talking about my penis?" Joe's brow was set in a deep frown, but the corners of his mouth gave away the smile underneath.

You sloppily shrugged, all annoyed.

"It's probably pretty, isn't it? You know, in dick terms,"

You got all angry again, but now it was all aimed at Joe instead of at Mark. Which was good, Joe thought.

"Golden boy Joseph," you started, speaking into the room louder than Joe cared for. "Posh little squeaky-clean Joey, with his beautiful pretty penis, ugh, you're the worst,"

Even your facial expressions were slow and messy.

"That's all right," Joe just said. It made you cover your face with both your hands, elbows up on the table, and you groaned loudly.

"You're not the worst, Mark's the worst,"

Oh. Back to Mark.

"And apparently I'm the worst for wanting a plus one,"

You slung your arms about.

"I don't even want to bring anyone!" you defended, "I just asked why I didn't get one because he'd been all vague about it, and he still hasn't fucking said why,"

You nearly hit the empty glass in front of you.

"Careful," Joe warned, sliding it away from you, just in case.

"But obviously I'm awful for even bringing it up,"

Joe saw you look around, in search of Mark, he assumed. You got up a little from your seat, and leant heavily on the small table.

Unable to find him, you opted to just shout, "I'm clearly the worst friend," loudly into the room.

With a warm palm to your shoulder, Joe pushed you to sit back down and as you fell into your chair, your head bobbled.

You looked like you could use some sleep.

Or, some food.

You sighed deeply, clearly annoyed at... everything. Mark, mostly.

Looking at you, there was an overwhelming feeling to protect within Joe. To shield, even if he was unaware of what, exactly.

He just... he needed to make sure you were safe, and he'd use the excuse of Mark keeping tabs on him again if he needed to. It was an easy cover-up. Even if the two of you were fighting, you knew Mark would still need to make sure you were all right. But the way Joe was prepared to throw his own flesh and blood in between you and whatever could do you harm felt new. 

He could’ve never seen it coming.

You were strong. Held the strength of thousands. Were stubborn and didn’t let people mess with you. You could be harsh, and sharp, and if Joe said something wrong, you would always make him feel that he did. Would just get up and leave without feeling bad about it. 

But now Joe understood it was all coping. It was how you’d been shaped. By the years. By others. And Joe wanted to undo it. To fix it. Keep you safe.

From where he was sat, he made eye-contact with Poppy's mother. She looked a little worried, but Joe just smiled. Gave her a little wave. Signaled it was all good, even though he really wasn't sure if it was. 

De-escalate. Take deep breaths. They always helped.

Joe kept looking around. Seeing if he could find Mark after not finding him in the spot he'd been in before. He either needed to get the two of you together, or needed to keep you as far apart as possible at this party. He wasn’t sure which one was better right now. But he needed to at least know of Mark’s whereabouts so that he could decide what was best later. 

A loud gulp of air next to him made Joe turn to look at you.

You were crying. Holding it in, doing deep breaths to not let any audible sobs out, but your mascara was leaving dark tear stains all the way down to your chin.

“Fuck," Joe muttered, and was quick. Looked for napkins, checked tables and the bar surface, but there were none. He then patted his pockets, and immediately screwed up his face - did Joe think he was carrying a handkerchief? Had he ever done that in his life? 

Without anything else around, he then just used his forearm and pressed the inside of it over your cheek, getting the left side of your face. 

You immediately grabbed hold of it, and turned Joe’s arm in your hands to show him what he’d done. 

Black and brown make-up stains on his white sleeve.

“I’ll have it dry cleaned,” he said, twisting his arm out of your grip, “Close your eyes,” and then, he got the other cheek. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course Joe didn’t wash his own shirts. 

"I think I need to leave," you then hiccuped, eyes still closed, Joe now softly wiping the fabric of his shirt against your face. He used the hem to get real close under your eyes, letting fresh tears disappear into the cotton.

"Nah, just need to sober up," Joe said, all casual. Like you hadn't just made an awful entrance and were very clearly ruining your best friend's wedding shower.

"Here." Joe then said, and pushed the second glass of water towards you a little. You'd assumed before that that was Joe's glass, but noticed it was still full and realised he'd gotten both glasses for you to drink. 

"They want you here. You're the best man after all,"

"I'm not so sure anymore," you said after downing more water. "He said some dumb shit, about how I always think everyone's in love with me," you winced, "Knows right where to fucking stab me,"

"Joe!"

Poppy called for him, and when Joe looked, he saw she was smiling. Happily chatting away in a group of girls, some of them bridesmaids, and she beckoned him to come over.

"All right, finish that. I'll be right back, okay? Don't move." Joe said to you before he dashed off.

You watched him walk away before your eyes landed on the glass in front of you.

Water was stupid. Tasted of nothing but your own saliva.

Water could go and fuck itself, like Mark could go fuck himself.

Water could go suck a million dicks, for all you cared.

You wanted more gin.

Mark sucked. And gin didn't.

Poppy pulled Joe into conversation. The girls said Joe's suit had to match their bridesmaids dresses, since he was part of their group. Joe agreed, politely smiled, said he'd wear whatever shade of pink he had to. Poppy swore he looked good in anything, and Joe jokingly agreed that he did.

People were laughing. Having fun. Some started dancing, and Joe thought to himself that this wedding shower was fun. Poppy was smiling, and so he was happy too.

Joe didn't forget about you, but in the crowd, being amongst people, he got swallowed up into conversation for a little bit. Into jokes. Into chats with friends and family, and people were interested in him. Wanted to know all sorts of things, asked him questions, wanted to tell him things.

When Joe eventually made his way back over after a little bit, you were gone, and your table held five glasses - one still with some water in. Four empty. Three with straws in.

Shit.

You'd not listened at all; hadn't finished the water, and you'd clearly moved.

The venue wasn't huge, but it was fairly packed. Looking around, it was impossible to quickly spot you.

He spotted Mark, though.

"Hey,"

"She's vomming," Mark said,

"Toilets?"

"Toilets."

Joe nodded, but didn't walk off yet.

"Do I... should we put her in a cab?"

Mark sighed and found his phone to check the time. The party had been going for a bit already, and Joe could tell he was annoyed.

"Where's Pop?"

"Mingling,"

"Okay, good. That's good."

A silence fell where Mark seemed to think about what would be the best course of action.

"We didn't give plus ones to people we know aren't seeing anyone," Mark then suddenly said, answering a question Joe didn't ask.

"That's why we didn't–"

"Yea man, no worries," Joe quickly replied. He needed Mark to know it wasn't an issue for him at all. Joe didn't want to be the cause of more drama, just wanted to make sure the rest of the night ran as smoothly as it could. Needed to, for Poppy.

"My mum's with her now, but–"

"I'll go, I'll take her outside and get her into a cab." Joe interjected, feeling like he should be the one to handle this. He was the maid of honour who had organised the wedding shower, after all.

"You and Poppy can stay," Joe pointedly said. Then he took Mark by both the shoulders, shook him firmly and pressed, "Celebrate. It's your wedding shower."

Mark turned to see Poppy laughing loudly. Good. Mark cared about a lot of things, but right now, the most important thing was for Poppy to enjoy herself tonight.

Joe found you in the ladies. Mark's mother was stood by the sinks with you, doing her best to wash and wipe the vomit from your hair.

You were a full mess of a girl.

"I'm taking over," Joe said, smiling politely.

"Are you taking her home?"

Joe had told Mark he'd just throw you into a taxi, but his mother made him commit to bringing you all the way to your doorstep.

"Of course," Joe had no other choice.

"Darling," Mark's mother turned back to you and grabbed hold of your face with both hands. A wide grin spread across it as your eyes remained closed. "You're going to get home, eat something, and go to sleep,"

The mere thought of food made you shudder.

"Nothing crazy, just some bread or something, carbs," she quickly added.

When Mark's mother turned to look at Joe again, Joe took it as his sign to take over.

"Come on, we're leaving. Let's go,"

Joe held out an arm, which was meant to just guide you. Get you in front of him so he could maybe hover both hands close to your shoulders to make sure you didn't bump into anything on your way out. Instead, you took hold of it and curled into it, and suddenly Joe had his arm around your neck as you leant into his side and he had to focus all his energy into keeping a straight face.

Getting you outside was easy. Getting rid of the blush on his cheeks wasn't. The fresh air made you push yourself into Joe more, and it made Joe mentally have to count to ten.

Joe was shielding and, fuck, it felt amazing, but he knew he was overstepping. There was no way in hell Joe was going to let people - let you be able to accuse him of taking advantage of a situation. Nothing he was going to do could lead to accusations, Joe needed to make sure of it. Nothing.

Deep breaths. They always helped.

And Joe had to take more deep breaths when a taxi stopped in front the two of you, and you didn't really make any moves to get in by your own accord.

Joe had to use his arms, his hands, his fingers, to manoeuvre you into the backseat and get you into a seatbelt.

"Where to, mate?"

And that's when Joe realised he didn't know your address.

He knew whereabouts you lived - he had walked you home that one time, remember? But what the fuck was your address?

"Um," Joe squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

What the fuck was your address?!

He could contact Poppy, or Mark, but the second he thought of either of them receiving a text or a call from him, he knew how that would make their mood drop. Joe didn't want to be a bother. Couldn't let you be more of a bother than you already had been.

"Just..." Joe looked at you. You were already asleep.

Then, he gave is own address to the cab driver and slid across the seat to get into his own seatbelt.

All right.

This was fine.

Joe had bread. He could give you some bread, have you sleep on his sofa, make sure you were actually okay, and, Joe checked his phone for the time, there'd still be enough time to make it back to the party.

Yes.

This was going to be fine.

You were going to be fine.

But Joe looked over, and you had your head slumped forward and were hanging into every turn and it looked painful.

Protect. Keep you safe.

Joe sighed, undid his seatbelt, got into the seat next to you, buckled up again, and used careful hands to push you into him. Give you something to rest your head on.

And you fucking snuggled.

Deep breaths, Joe. It wasn't that far to go still.

Joe took deep breaths for the rest of the trip, and then Joe took deep breaths as he held you up by slinging one of your arms around his neck as he got you into his house.

More deep breaths when he let you fall back onto his sofa and he saw your dress had ridden up.

More deep breaths as he went to the kitchen to get you bread like Mark's mother had said, and water too. A paracetamol sounded like a good plan as well.

More deep breaths when Joe stepped back into his living room to find an empty sofa.

Footsteps on his stairs.

Fuck.

Joe called for you, followed where the noise came from, and saw you disappear onto the landing.

Fucking fuck. Shit.

With the bread, water, all of it in hand, Joe quickly toed his shoes off and rushed up the stairs after you. Picked up the handbag you'd dropped halfway. He heard the rustling of his duvet and knew he was too late.

Tonight Joe was going to be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Joe wasn't prepared for the sight of you in his bed, your feet still in heels that stuck out on the side. It made him feel too many things at once, your face pressed into his pillow, on his side of the bed. He didn't even care that he'd just witnessed someone washing vomit from your hair.

He placed the water, food and medicine down on his bedside table and knelt down to take your shoes off for you.

Joe was touching the skin of your ankles with his fingertips and he felt his face heat up. Your little hums did not help in the slightest, and even though Joe loved them, none of this felt right.

Joe was overstepping.

With your shoes removed, you slid both legs under the covers and moved to get more comfortable.

"All right," Joe whispered, leaning a little closer to catch sight of your face. "There's some dry bread here on the side, some water, a tablet if you need it, your bag's here, on the floor, and–"

"Mmmhm, 's just a nap," you interrupted and reached a hand up that found Joe's cheek to pat.

It burnt his skin, and he wanted to smile. To allow himself to enjoy your touch, but he couldn't.

Joe reached to draw the covers over your more, tuck you in a little before he'd head out again, and it was the worst thing he could've ever done. Because your hand found his arm and suddenly, you were holding onto Joe's shirt and pried your eyes open to look at your own make-up stains.

"Go, have a nap," Joe cooed, trying to create distance, and fully expected you to close your eyes. You were drunk, so you'd probably fall asleep fast.

Instead, Joe felt his heart skip several beats when you softly said, "Nap with me."

Inhale. Hold.

Hold.

Hold.

Joe couldn't fuck things up any more than he already had, but you were in his bed, on his side of it, and you just asked him to get in as well and, what the fuck?! Joe was just a man. One with insides that churned at the sight of you, even now, all drunk. All soft. And the pillows looked cool, and clean, and inviting. And you asked him to nap with you.  

Exhale.

Joe thought of Poppy.

Thought of Mark.

Thought of how you and Mark met. How you became friends.

Thought of how everything that had happened tonight had lead him to this exact moment.

There was no way Joe was going to go back to the party, still. He should. Probably should, you know, for Poppy. Really didn't want to, though.

He wanted to get into bed with you.

He shouldn't. Really shouldn't. But fuck, he really wanted to. And he could, maybe, if he kept his clothes on. Right? That would be okay, wouldn't it?

Joe took too long. Hovered in the space above you for too long. So you decided for him by also grabbing hold of Joe's arm with your other hand and turning over, essentially encasing yourself into his arm like you'd done earlier when Joe'd lead you outside.

And then you scooted over, further into the bed. Made space behind you, and didn't let go of Joe, pulling him in.

Yea, Joe wasn't going to go back to the party.

Gently, Joe laid down behind you, hoped and prayed you didn't notice- didn't feel the effect it all had had on him below his belt.

"I love a good nap," you whispered, all breathy and gentle, and like you'd done in the cab, you snuggled. Joe had to bite his bottom lip not to let any noise escape him.

Deep breaths.

You were in Joe's bed, in Joe's arms, and you were safe.

Joe got to keep you safe, and suddenly, it all felt right like nothing had been more right ever before.

Rest now, Joe told himself. She's not going anywhere.

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s  @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[nananamunsons]

[nananamunsons]

still thinking about s1 steddie <3

[nananamunsons]

Luke really is just like me: ‘tism and mcr

JOSEPH QUINN and OLIVIA COLMAN as LUKE MARBEY and JENNY LANDAU | MOSQUITOES (2017)

↳ #moody noodle boy

[nananamunsons]

"these are the fruity four" this, "no these are the real fruity four" that. just pick four stranger things characters at random and call them the fruity four. you'll be right

[nananamunsons]

Inspired by The Yes Policy by the lovely @pinkrelish and the scene that made me audibly gasp 😌

[nananamunsons]

that moment when Steve does a perfect flip down the rope into the portal and Robin's like "Is he waiting for applause?" But how much better would it have been if Eddie just *clap clap clap* all impressed and oblivious, then Nancy and Robin give him A Look and he slowly lowers his hands

[nananamunsons]

you’re on your own, kid | e.m - part ten

eddie munson x singlemom!reader

summary: set after the events of season four, Steve has disappeared and is presumed dead in the upside down. broken and now left to deal with your pregnancy alone, Eddie takes it upon himself to support you to the best of his abilities in Steve’s absence.

chapter summary: emotions reach a fever pitch, resulting in some unexpected revelations

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, unplanned pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, mentions of death, reader is 19, anxiety, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slow burn, mentions of a fight and wounds

word count: 8.4K+

a/n: here we go guys, gals and non-binary pals! shoutout to my zoom bestie @dickfics69​ for beta reading. hope you enjoy, this chapter was a labor of love!

taglist: @lezzy-bennet @harrypotteranna23-blog  @reidstea @sashaphantomhive  @bexreadstoomuch @audhd-dragonaut @littlepotatobeansworld @ches-86  @tlclick73 @fckyeahlames @gnocchey @astrolockley @sidthedollface2 @micheledawn1975  @3rd-conchord @eddiesbabe95​

↳  one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight  / nine / ten

Part Ten: Isn’t It Delicate?

Keep reading

[nananamunsons]

I MET JOE - 18/03/2023

Okay first of all, this is probably going to be a really long post because I am making sure I get EVERY detail.

Firstly, the context:

Most of us had seen the Instagram story and the “there do be willies” mayhem. I saw the story after my lovely friend @joehhy sent it and asked what willies are (she’s French) I saw the post and read about the show and thought…. Fuck it I’ll go it’s sounds like fun.

Skip to the night of the show!!

I am in the queue, at the very front, joking back and forth with @joehhy about how it’d be impossible for him to show up because London is huge and it’s a 1/1000000000 chance right?! WRONG!!!!

Mr Quinn comes up to the lady at the door who’s stood right next to me and says that his friend is running a little bit late and if it was okay to just walk in. She says it’s fine and he says “thank you very much” (so polite 😌)

At this point, I’m shaking and my whole body had a sudden hot flush of adrenaline right? I saw him and I tried not to stare and saw that he looked at me in my peripheral (I’m at the front of the queue so I’m pretty noticeable) and then he walks away.

Now I’ll describe how he looks for you all 🥹🥹

His hair was SO CURLY tonight. Like I’m talking literal COCKAPOO hair. He had his glasses on too!! You know the ones….

The clear rims 🥹🥹

Yup those ones 🫠🫠

Now his outfit……….

Double dark blue denim. That’s right kids!

And he fucking owned that shit.

It was basically this outfit but you couldn’t see an undershirt as the button were up:

Anyways I didn’t see him inside the show because the audience is really dark but OMG!!!!!

Every time something funny happened you could HEAR HIM LAUGH AND GIGGLE

I had Joe Quinn laughing asmr for an HOUR are you kidding me 😭😭

After the show when all the lights came on there he was, on the opposite side of the room to me

Here’s my terrible drawing:

And I had to walk next to and behind him to get out. Turns out he’s hanging out with MISS THANG Lupita Nyong’o 🥰 and he’s telling her something so I leave.

Now…. I’m waiting at the doors outside, I initially had no intentions of speaking to him right I just wanted to see his pretty face again 🥴

He comes and speaks to the door woman again but I didn’t hear them this time and starts to walk towards the bar at the end of the hall

I’m walking after him feeling like and absolute creep and even start doing a little hop/skip to catch up (he walks FUCKING QUICK)

I place my hand on his shoulder blade…..

HE TURNS AROUND AND HES SO BEAUTIFUL OMG 😳

The conversation went like this

Me: Joe! Hi ☺️

J: Hello!

Me: I just wanted to thank you for recommending the show! I really enjoyed it

J: Omg no way really?

Me: Yes I saw it on your Instagram story

J: Wow, well I’m so glad that you enjoyed it! That’s amazing

Me: yes thank you ☺️ I met you at comic con not long ago too

J: Oh well it’s so lovely to see you again (proceeds to hold his hand out for me to shake and I do 😳)

Me: well I don’t want to bother you or anything so I’m going to go

J: Oh okay, well have a good night!

Me: Thank you, you too!

🥹🥹🥹

He was so lovely and pretty and his eye contact is IMMENSE from an autistic point of view

I didn’t ask for a picture because he seemed like he wanted to stay on the down low so I thought it would be rude

But fuck…….. I can’t believe it

[nananamunsons]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 11

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 11/? 5.2k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Parent teacher conferences and long forgotten stories uncover worlds beneath.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: stories within stories, high fantasy, discussion of childhood hardship, implied spousal abuse, parent death mention, drug use mention, heavy angst

Friday, November 15th 1985

Eddie was lost in another world.

He was floating actually. High above the clouds, not that he could see them. He wished he could but the empty crate he had stolen away in was the only thing shielding him from the suspicious eyes of the merchants aboard the zeppelin. His heart pounded as the wind carried him further than he’d ever been from the only place he’d ever known — the isolated Cloud Kingdom of Myrne. High atop a mountain range. A city of gold, gleaming like a beacon in the sun.

His back ached against the stiff wood rocking him like a cradle. He was lucky to be small enough to fit. Lucky that he had just enough space to shed his silk coat to use as padding. If he laid just right he could even stretch his legs toward the ceiling to relieve the cramps that threatened his claves. 

He would have to ration the dried boar’s meat and meager flask of water that he’d stashed away in his knapsack. There wasn’t space for very much, and he needed the precious real estate for not only clothing, but the jars of herbs and poultices to stave off the illnesses he was so susceptible to. 

That was why he — or, Lady Cybelle rather, ended up here in the first place. See, there was something she needed from the world beneath. Desperately. Her brother did anyway. A rare, translucent plant called a ghostfern found only in the depths of certain caves. It was a known cure for his equally rare illness, or at least that’s what she read during her herbalism studies. Much like Eddie, all she knew of the world beneath was what she read about.

Cybelle begged the high council to send for it. To send scouts to collect it. But they refused, unwilling to risk the safety of the collective for the life of just one. There was always a risk involved in the leaving and returning of Myrnish people. A risk to contract and spread more illness that threatened the lives of them all.

Cybelle was crafty though, and equally determined. She’d fashioned a mask out of moth silk with a pocket for illness-staving herbs. She would need it when the zeppelin finally landed in Torgaard. When she figured her way out of this crate without being spotted. When she set foot, for the first time, on the land she only caught a glimpse of when the clouds beneath her parted.

Eddie had grown rather fond of Cybelle. He’d been spending every evening with her since Wednesday. Ever since you handed him your world in a black three ring binder — Worlds Beneath.

It was intimate, reading your work. As if he could read between the lines and observe the way your mind worked. The way your phrasing flowed. Your choice of words. As if part of you was there within the pages. The hidden part of you.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was as captivated as he was impressed. He supposed after watching you analyze literature on a daily basis that it would be more… literary. More serious. Less fantastical. But this was beyond anything he could have anticipated.

There was a secret world in you. He would catch glimpses of it sometimes when you laughed. It would peek around the mask you wore like a curious child when he talked about elves and magic. He could hear its quiet voice becoming braver. 

He was there now, inside of it. Crammed inside a crate aboard a zeppelin. You had a way of doing that, he noticed. Taking him there. Making him feel the wooden crate against his spine. The stuffy air in the close darkness around him. The fear twinged with excitement. It was a sort of magic you possessed. 

He could feel it outside the pages too. The gentle burning in your fingertips, even when you pulled away. Especially when you pulled away. The quiet wanting of it all.   

He wondered how often you went there, to the secret world in you. Did you drift there as you glided down the hallway? Would you hide there when the real world was too much?

He wondered how many people saw it. How many others you let in. 

He wondered if he stayed there long enough, set up camp and looked around, if he would find himself there too. 

______

You smoothed your hair as you checked your reflection in the faculty bathroom mirror. The old light bathed everything in a yellow wash. It made your skin look as tired as you felt. You picked lint off the black blazer you pulled from the back of your closet this morning. The one with the shoulder pads. Professional, right? It made you look bigger than you felt. Perhaps parents would take you seriously if you looked like you belonged behind the desk.

There were some perks to in-service days. No classroom to manage. You got to come in at noon instead of 7:30 am. Got to be the one listening to a lecture instead of giving one. The only downside was having to stay until 7:30 pm. That and trying your best not to cry when a parent inevitably got defensive. You always looked for something nice to say about all of your students. It softened the less savory news, if there was any. More often than not it was just making small talk, telling parents what a pleasure their child was to have in class. 

The heels of your shoes clicked down the empty hallway, past the trophy cases filled with plaques of names you still recognized. You caught the ghost of your reflection in the glass, the angular silhouette of the costume that you wore. You noticed your tight pencil skirt riding up in the back and you corrected it with a downward tug, keeping on the straight and narrow path toward the teachers lounge. 

The wood paneled walls welcomed you in, and you padded across the old carpet toward the open boxes of pizza laid out on one of the three round tables. You grabbed a paper plate and pulled a few slices of pepperoni from the large, square cut sheet, the cheese already hard from sitting out. You rarely complained, and this time was no exception. Your stomach was threatening to eat itself and lukewarm pizza more than fit the bill.

You took a bite to satiate your blood sugar and made your way to the coffee station for the third time that day. Grabbing a mug from the stack, your fingers grazed the faded lettering that vaguely resembled the Chief’s Auto Repairs logo. You glanced at the clock as you filled it with your liquid vice. It was 2:37, which meant you had approximately twenty-three minutes before you had to be posted at your station. Your stomach churned, and not from the pizza. 

 “Boo,” came a gentle whisper from behind you.

Your hand jerked, sloshing coffee all over the wood veneer.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Diane apologized, making haste to grab a generous handful of square napkins from beside the sugar. Her bright red nail polish glinted under the fluorescents as she blotted up the mess.

You put a hand to your chest. “No, no it’s ok,” you sighed, grabbing a napkin to wipe the bottom of your mug. “It’s good to see you, honestly. I didn’t think I would.”

“Yeah, I still have quite a few notes to catch up on. Just because I’m not a teacher doesn’t mean I’m off the hook,” she said with a wink. “What was the seminar about this time?” She tossed the napkins into the trash at the end of the table.

“Oh, just the usual stuff. Classroom management, how to have better boundaries with students, you know, hah.” Knots twisted in your stomach as you leaned against the counter, grabbing a milk carton and tipping it over your mug. 

Diane hummed, eyes fixed on your generous pour threatening to overflow the coffee from the rim. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh yes, enthralling,” you said, folding the mushy lip of the carton back in on itself, something to do with your hands to keep them from shaking. The coffee probably wasn’t going to help.

Diane’s eyes narrowed, “Are you… ok?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just uh,” you tapped your finger on the edge of your mug. “Parent teacher conference day nerves, you know.” 

“Ugh, I can only imagine. I hope everyone is nice to you today. I have no idea why they wouldn’t be.” 

You offered a shaky chuckle. “Yeah, me neither. Just getting in my own head I guess.” 

“Love the blazer, by the way. Super sharp.”

“Oh, thanks. Figured I’d dress the part.” Grabbing your plate of pizza in one hand and very full mug in the other, you took a sip off the top, marking the rim with a delicate red blot. You pulled out one of the old chairs and found your place in it, which your feet were thankful for.

Diane leaned against the table, “So, Darren called last night.”

“Oh, you’re still talking to him?” The sauce squeezed out from the corners of your bite as you sunk your teeth into the hard cheese and gummy crust.

“Yeah, a bit. Off and on. He’s a nice guy. Does stuff for his sister and her kids lot, which I feel like is a good sign, right?”

Your brows raised a little. “Yeah, totally a good sign,” you said through a mouthful. 

“He invited me to the Colts game this weekend. I think I’m gonna go.”

You blotted the sauce from your lips. “Really? I thought you said he wasn’t your type.”

“I mean, what is a type anyway? If I keep waiting around for my type I might be waiting forever. I’ve gotta just start putting myself out there, you know? Give guys the benefit of the doubt for once. You never know until you try,” Diane offered as she opened up the large box of sheet pizza and ripped off two slices onto her plate.

You huffed through your nose, “Sometimes you know.”

“I mean, yeah. Sometimes, but with this one, I dunno. I mean we do have some things in common. We both like Saturday Night Live and spending time outside. He’s decently attractive, or he was at Mojo’s anyway,” she chuckled. “We’ll see what he’s like off the phone. At the very least it’s something to do, right?” 

You swallowed your bite. “Right. I mean, hey, free entertainment I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Diane as she settled into the seat beside you. 

______

The phone was ringing. Shrill and deeply annoying as it echoed through the trailer. Eddie sighed and pulled himself away from your world in his lap, his expression blank and perturbed. He thought for a moment about answering it. About putting an end to the intrusive noise, but that would mean getting up from the toasty blanket cocoon he’d wrapped his legs in, like a warm pretzel. November’s creeping chill was doing nothing to help his motivation to leave it.

So he let it ring. And ring. Until finally the answering machine picked up, coloring the voice that came through in static and tin.

“Hey man, it’s Gareth. Um… I’m kinda freaking out about this date tomorrow. I know you’re probably just gonna tell me to stop being a pussy, but uh… yeah. Call me back.”

Eddie smirked and rolled his eyes. His friend knew him so well. There would be plenty of time to tell Gareth exactly what he needed to hear. That he was, in fact, being a total pussy. Later though. Right now he was busy. 

He was a man named Lazarus now. The Amazing Lazarus, formally. And he had a full time job shuffling cards and making purses disappear. 

The small crowd that gathered around him didn’t know that though. Not in this city anyway. He was certain he hadn’t seen any… artistic interpretations of his face plastered on any of the buildings in Torgaard. Yet.

If he could be quick enough with his hands they wouldn’t even notice what was missing until they were blocks away, and by then he would have long since packed up his banner and left. 

“Is this your card?” he flourished to the unfortunate man who had stepped forward from the crescent crowd.

The man squinted. “No I don’t think it is.”

“Ah,” he answered curtly. “Oh, what’s this?” He feigned surprised, reaching forward to dip his fingers into the man’s pocket. He pulled back with another flourish. “Is this your card?”

“Why it is!”

Cheers and claps erupted from the crowd. Lazarus took a bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He took off his weathered top hat and passed it around to collect any loose change that the crowd was eager to get rid of.

The people dispersed as quickly as they came, leaving him alone. He reached into the hidden pocket beneath his leather glove and extracted a small pouch. And now, for the even bigger reveal. 

He dipped his finger into the opening and loosened the draw strings to reveal a few spare coins and…

Another pocket watch. 

It was almost like everyone carried them around in their pockets. Dull and predictable, and practically worthless to him. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before he actually made his trade worth his time today.

That’s when he spotted her — the strangest person he’d seen all day. Maybe all year. Maybe in his entire life, and he’d seen a lot of people.

The first thing he noticed was her shock of white hair, cropped in a bob with bangs like a toddler. She toddled like one too. Petite and girlish. Flat boots with curled toes flapping like duck feet against the dirty cobblestone. Deeply unstable. Crinkled gold coat gleaming like a beacon in the sun. 

But the real clincher was the mask she wore. A big crescent moon that swept across her round face. Strange and alien. Stark against deep copper skin. Eyes like saucers. 

The perfect target. 

He strolled up to her, and her enormous eyes drank him in like they were parched.

“Hey, you look like the type of person who might appreciate a magic trick.”

She looked up at him, chin lowering beneath her mask. “A… a magic trick?” 

He couldn’t place the accent.

“Oh yes,” he said, shuffling his cards in an arch from one hand to the other. “Have you ever seen a magic trick before?”

It was a silly question to be asking someone who looked like they’d never seen a man before.

“Oh, um. I do not think so,” she said, her flat silk boots stumbling across the cobblestone to regain her footing. “Sorry I am a little, uh… it is like the air here is just so… different.”

Lazarus stopped shuffling. “Different? Different how? Different from where?”

She looked around, out past the zeppelin docks toward the horizon. She pointed toward the sky. “Myrne.”

“Really,” he half whispered. In all his travels he had never seen a Myrnish person before. He had only ever heard about them from others and what little they knew secondhand of their isolated culture. 

“The air…it is just… thicker,” she said between breaths. “Sorry. I am quite dizzy.”

He took a step closer. Close enough to assess that there were no pockets to be found on her strange garments, but there was something else that excited him much more. An obelisk of glimmering pale gold that dangled from her neck. Worth a small fortune, at least. 

The gold found in the mines of Mount Myrne was different from any other precious metal in the world. It was found only there, and unlike common gold, was very hard. It sparkled rather than shined, and most importantly possessed an energy that could be harnessed. Like magic.

The gnomes would use it to power their inventions. It didn’t take much of it to make a moderate machine come alive. A piece this size could surely afford him a permanent home, and then some. No more hiding his caravan outside cities. No more paying for stables or worrying about wolves making a meal of his horse.

He could picture it now. A little cottage in Shantiglade by the sea. He would wake up to a full body stretch in a real bed. He would fix himself a goose egg omelet over a real stove with peppers from his garden. He would open his windows and taste the fresh brine in the air. 

He would stroll leisurely to the beach where no one knew his face. Where the tide would kiss his ankles and wash away his footprints. Where his past couldn’t follow him.

The pendant winked in the sunlight. She was so small. He could easily break the chain from around her neck with a single tug and run.

“So, what brings you all the way down here?” He drew closer, unable to tear his eyes from the shimmering treasure.

She stepped back in time with his advance, like a dance, adjusting the mask on her face with hesitant eyes.

“I am looking for ghostfern.”

“You’ve come a long way for a plant, my dear.” Another step forward.

Another step back. “My brother needs it. He will die without it.” 

It was a look he’d seen before. Desperation twinged with hope. He’d seen it in his own reflection more times than he cared to admit. He saw it in his mother too, though the hope faded almost as quickly as she did when the cost of the cure was too great.

She lowered her gaze. “Ghostfern is very rare. None of our merchants carry it, though I hear it can be found in caves outside of Rower’s End, but I do not know how to get there.”

Rare, expensive — what difference did it make when it was out of reach? 

“That’s a long ways off,” he offered solemnly. It was deep into the boglands and nary a merchant dared to venture along the thin, winding path to Rower’s End. The rumors of sinister creatures and  bog crone hexes were enough to keep them away.

The strange young woman seemed unfazed by this. “Have you been there before?”

Lazarus huffed. “No, I but I do know how to get there.” The gold obelisk winked at him again and he stilled his itching hands. “How about I uh… make you a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Yes, a deal. I take you to Rower’s End in exchange for that pendant you’re wearing.”

She sized him up, the gears turning behind her enormous, chestnut spheres. “You will take me back then too? To Torgaard?”

Lazarus nodded firmly, “Of course.”

Her eyes crinkled, sparkled like the obelisk she wore. “Then it is a deal.”

“Excellent,” smirked Lazarus. “Ah, what is your name, by the way?”

“Cybelle.” Certainly one he hadn’t heard before.

“Lazarus, pleasure to be doing business with you.” He extended his hand.

Cybelle cocked her head, studying his open palm hovering in the space between them like a foreign object. 

“Uh, you — you shake it. See? Like this.” He demonstrated awkwardly with his other hand, then presented her with the opportunity again. “Now you try.” 

Cybelle stared at his hand. Her fingers twitched, gaze darting from his palm to his eyes. “Ah… sorry.” She put her hands up sheepishly, waving his away. “Trying not to get sick.”

Lazarus retracted his hand and gave a single, solemn nod. “As you wish.”

______

Your eyes tracked down your list of parent names, then up at the clock. It was 6:45 on the dot. The last name on your list was scheduled at 6:40. 

There was a part of you that hoped he wouldn’t show at all. The churning in your stomach was kicking up with each minute that ticked by, anxious eyes flitting from the paper, to the door, to the clock.

Until suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway. He was tall, weathered, with a short grey beard. Hair even shorter, stark against the ruddy skin that it encircled atop his head. He wore a denim jacket with a corduroy collar and olive green work slacks stained with patches of grease.

He peered around your classroom tentatively, as if looking for a sign that he found the right one. “Hi, Wayne Munson." It sounded like more of a question.

You stood up from behind your desk with a jolt. “Oh, hi! You must be Eddie’s dad.” Knots twisted in your stomach. You extended your hand to him and put on the warmest, brightest mask you could muster. 

“Uncle, actually.” His hand was rough and thickly calloused, fingers stained from nicotine. You could smell the stale scent of his vice on him, a family habit, evidently. “Sorry ’m a little late. Still a bit early for me, I work the graveyard at the plant.”

Uncle. The questions bubbled in your gut but there was no place to air them in the split second between you. “Oh that’s no problem, you’re last on my list today anyway. Here, have a seat.” You gestured to the chair opposite yours at your desk. 

Your desk. The same desk his nephew held your hand under. Your stomach churned again.

As Wayne eased himself into the small, wooden chair, you allowed your timid eyes enough agency to take stock. There was a weight to him, not in his body but in his aura. A heaviness that you could feel. Tired stories you strained to read between the lines on his face, stained into the cracks of his fingers. You would search for the resemblance to the one you saw most often in that chair. You would find very little save for their strong oval faces and the warmth that surprised you in his ice blue eyes.

Wayne sighed, deep and heavy as he creaked back into the chair. “Alright, how’s Ed doing in class?” he asked flatly.

There was something else in his eyes, leaden like defeat. Like bracing steel. Like tired expectation. 

He might as well have said, “Let’s get this over with.” It was the same tune. A tune he memorized. Sung a thousand times. A tune his voice was tired of.

“Eddie is…” a soft smile crept onto your face and you suddenly became captivated with the pen on your desk. You felt him lean forward, hinging on the words you left hanging in the air.

And so you told him the truth.

“…one of the most creative and tenacious people I know.”

There was a breath that he’d been holding in, a sigh that permeated the stunned stillness between you. 

“I know it isn’t easy for him to be here. I know he’d rather be doing a million other things but he’s still here, you know? Despite being denied graduation twice.”

He knew. You could see it as clearly as the lines that softened on his forehead.

“I mean sure, I could tell you that he’s got a B minus in my class right now. We could sit here and talk about grades, and attendance, and behavior, but… he’s trying really hard and I don’t think that you can… quantify that. There aren’t grades for effort. They don’t give marks for how many lonely students you offer a place to sit in the cafeteria. It isn’t something you can measure.”

Wayne leaned closer, the ice in his eyes melting so much that he needed to blink it away. 

The sight stirred a deep part of you. The easing of the bracing steel into something so much softer. Tender like a bruise. You thought about Eddie Munson with pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. Your nose burned.

“You know he’s got a lot of leadership qualities too,” you said, steadying the quiver from your voice. “He’s in a band, he runs a club. He’s involved and engaged. He’s…” your eyes lowered again, thumbing at the pen on your desk. “He’s got an enormous heart,” you said, quieter. “I think he’s just… extraordinary. If you want to know the truth.”

Wayne glanced away, toward the windows, as he swiped a calloused finger at his cheek. “M’sorry,” he muttered, blinking. “Y’know I’ve been goin’ to these for the past, what is it… nine years now? Nobody ever has nothin’ good to say about ‘im. Not a single one.”

An ache sank deep in your chest. It stung, like your eyes did when you imagined the younger versions of the man who took that chair most often, and those of the one in it now. Sitting in front of the big desk. Facing someone who was far less kind than you on the other side.

“You’re the one who’s been tutoring ‘im, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, stomach churning again. You figured he’d mentioned that. It would have been strange for him not to. “Yes. A few times a week after school. It seems to be helping. He showed me his progress report, all passing grades so far. He’s gonna walk that stage this year. He will if I have anything to do about it.”

Wayne cracked a smile at your determination. “Well thank you kindly for all your patience. I mean it. The boy’s always struggled in school. Been an issue even ‘fore I had ‘im.”

“What happened before you had him?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had a moment to process whether they were appropriate or not. Whether it was your place to ask. 

Wayne sighed deep as his weathered hand eased the exhaustion creasing his brow. “My younger bother is… really somethin’ else to put it mildly. Always has been. He’s in county now doin’ time for stealin’ cars and other petty shit— sorry, young lady, pardon my French.” 

You shook your head and waved it off, the humor of his comment overshadowed by the concern twisting in your stomach. “It’s fine, really. Please continue.”

“Ed’s mom on the other hand, well she had ‘er own problems but not like him. Actually, I recon Warren was the biggest problem she ever had. Real young when she had Ed, maybe 19, if even. ’S hard to remember. Younger than Warren was, I know that much. We were all still livin’ in West Virginia at the time. A few years after that Warren got in hot water with the law. Packed up Lorena and the baby and settled in Hawkins with a few gamblin’ buddies he’d met from out this way.”

A twist, deep in your heart. You swallowed, leaning forward.

“Well, Warren managed to find some stable employment fixin’ cars. Stayed out of trouble for a few more years. Then Lorena started gettin’ sick. Always had issues with her heart, see. I don’t think the stress of livin’ out here with Warren helped none. I seen the way he’d talk to her when I would visit, always so suspicious of every damn thing.”

Your chest was so tight all of a sudden. Head filled with flashes of images you’d never seen. Images that you could feel. A woman in a cotton dress looking out a window. A profound loneliness. A longing for a freedom she may never know.  

“When Warren started gettin’ into trouble again I knew I had to do something, for Ed and Lori’s sake. They put ‘im away for a year that time, so I packed it up and moved out here. It was a good year. Gave us all a break from my brother. Sorry to go on a tangent, it’s just been a lot.” Wayne sighed deeply, smoothing his beard with his hand.

 “No, no you’re fine,” you reassured, putting on your best mask for him. Behind it you were breaking.

“He was worse when he came back though. Started gettin’ into drugs. Few years after that, Lori passed due to her heart. Ed was ten at the time. I shouldn’t have let the bastard have him at all, but he was stubborn as hell and he had custody. Had ‘im for a year before he finally messed up bad enough to go away for a long while. Best thing he ever did was go to jail, I’ll tell you what.”

 “I—,” you took a deep breath, the pen on the desk so enthralling again, “I’m sorry, this is… I wasn’t, um, expecting—”

“No I’m… sorry to dump all this on you. Don’t get many people who wanna listen to be honest.”

“No, it’s really ok. I’m the one who asked. It’s just…”

“I know. Kid’s had it rough, to put it mildly.”

You took a slow, shaky inhale to steady yourself and found the courage to meet his eyes again. “He’s incredibly lucky to have you,” you said earnestly.

The ice in his eyes melted again. The steel now soft and pliant. The weight in him less heavy.

“You’ve done such a good job raising him,” you offered gently, swallowing your tears. “Really, he’s a wonderful person. You should be so proud.” 

Wayne sighed, allowing a full, bright smile to wash over him. He blinked quickly, glancing toward the windows again, and you wondered how often he heard that. If he ever did before.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible. 

It was strange, your sudden fondness for a man you dreaded meeting. 

“I should be thanking you. For sharing. For everything,” you said, stilling the quiver in your chest with a deep breath. “I think that’s all I really have for you today.” Your trembling hands gripped the chair beneath you.

Wayne nodded, “I’m glad I came. For once.”

You smiled, big and bright. “I’m glad you did too.” You extended your hand, your open palm hovering in the space between you. “It’s been an honor to meet you.”

Wayne’s warm, calloused hand bridged the great divide and squeezed yours gently. Lingered for a moment. “You as well,” he said, a fondness you could feel in his touch. He gave a firm shake before letting go.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you said with mustered cheer as he creaked out of the wooden chair.

“You as well,” he said with a wave as he made his way toward the door. His footsteps faded beyond the threshold, into the din of the hallway. 

A deep, ragged sigh escaped you.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. Thought about his oval face and big brown eyes. Thought about them smaller. In a hospital. Filled with unspeakable sadness. Sitting in the emptiness she left behind. At home by himself drawing dragons on his pages. Fighting a monster in his living room.

Eddie Munson. With pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. 

There was hope in them too. Unbreakable. Eager and wild. Restless, and frenetic, and warm. 

All at once.

It surfaced then. The strangled sob that released from your chest. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls that would still surround you both.

______

A/N: Apologies for how angsty that was. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it though, lots to explore in these new worlds we're uncovering ;)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashes, theories, small novels, all of it. I work very hard on this story and hearing your reactions fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

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[nananamunsons]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader, eventual smut, talk of teenage!trauma (men are men and teenage girls are teenage girls) - nothing graphic, but, you know, a trigger warning feels right

Author’s note: new territory! fresh waters! my first ever part 6! wahhh!

Wordcount: 4.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six

Sudden loud voices, followed by the slam of a closing front door shocked you awake. Not enough for you to actually open your eyes, but enough to propel you back into consciousness where you learnt that, oh, whoops, you'd fallen asleep.

The voices that came from the hallway were quickly shushed by Mark, who moved up from the sofa and you felt his legs disappear from underneath your feet.

“What’s – oh, she’s asleep,”

Your shoulder ached from lying on it weird.

The talking turned into whispers and was followed by footsteps that moved into the kitchen. When you looked with a squinty eye, you saw the TV was still on, but had been muted.

You'd had dinner over at Mark's, and Poppy had gone out with Joe. That was always the way it was; you and Mark were people who stayed in wearing comfy outfits, had simple meals and enjoyed shitty TV together. Poppy and Joe would go out in shiny outfits to shiny restaurants where they had shiny meals, you were sure.

No drinks after, though. Not tonight. Tomorrow she had her appointment at a wedding boutique, and you'd been invited to come along as well. You and Poppy were friends, after all, and she valued your opinion when it came to wedding dresses over Joe's anyway.

It was dark out, and you tried remembering if it had already been dark before you'd drifted off as you stretched your arms up over your head.

You were so toasty warm underneath the throw blanket, you groaned at the prospect of having to put your shoes back on and go outside for the trek home.

A sudden noise jump-scared you, and you were quick to pull in both arms close to your chest as your head snapped to where it came from.

Joe was stood in the doorway.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,"

"Oh my God," you spoke on an exhale, rubbed your face with both hands, and mentally cursed Joe for shocking you awake like he had.

Had he been stood there the whole time?

"Good morning?" you could hear him suppress a laugh, making fun of you as you sat up. Hair everywhere, sleep in your eyes and muscles all achy.

"It's night time," you corrected him dryly, not in the mood to play.

"Correction, it's not even 9, the evening's barely started."

Oh.

It felt like it was past midnight. But you shrugged, because it didn't really matter, and reached for one of your shoes that you pulled out from underneath the coffee table.

"Won't you... won't you have trouble getting to sleep later? Now that you've slept already?"

You frowned. Why was Joe trying to have a chat with you? Could he not go join Mark and Poppy in the kitchen and let you come back into your own body in some peace and quiet?

"I'll be fine," you pushed a foot into your second shoe. "I love a good nap."

A silence fell, and when you'd tied your shoe laces, you slapped your knees and took a deep breath. You looked at Joe who was still awkwardly hovering in the doorway, feet on the threshold, and you looked at him as if to ask, what do you want?

"Um, we... we came up with an idea," Joe started, scratching the back of his head.

"Small change of plans. We're turning the bridal shower into a wedding shower,"

You were glad that this was wedding-related, because it immediately normalised the conversation Joe was trying to have with you. You took a second to think it over, and then smiled an impressed smile at Joe.

"Well done," you nodded at him with your eyebrows raised. "Isn't that just a regular party, then?"

"Yea," Joe shrugged a little bashfully. "Pre-wedding party, everyone's invited, not just Poppy's guests,"

And no playing stupid bridal shower games, or stupid bridal shower activities... you were onto Joe. It was very clear that this was a way to minimize his workload and instead, just... drink.

Honestly, you didn't mind it.

"We thought it'd be nicer that way. Get everyone excited for the wedding,"

"No, yea... you're right. It probably will be nicer to have a normal party instead of playing the newly wed game, or some wild form of mad lips with their vows, or whatever,"

"Loo roll bride," Joe added.

"We could still do that, park Pop in the middle of the dance floor and dance around to wrap her up," you quipped, and got a huffed laugh out of Joe.

It was almost normal, until Joe's head turned and Mark's voice got into earshot. Joe immediately tensed up, you could see it in his shoulders, and you didn't understand why it offended you the way it did.

"Brilliant idea! We've managed to find a date that works for us," Mark said, revealing what they'd been up to, and it prompted Joe to step away to go and find Poppy.

Mark looked at you and turned on the ceiling light, washing the room in bright white. It made you flinch a little.

"Hey, twitchy-feet, you slept for nearly two hours,"

"I feel very well rested," you said, grinning at the nickname and getting up from the sofa.

"Kicked me several times,"

"You can take it,"

Finding your coat over the back of a chair, you slung it 'round and stuck one arm in after the other.

"You ready for tomorrow?" you called out loudly, and waited for a response from the kitchen.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Poppy called back.

"I was born ready," you grinned.

"No, you weren't," Mark said softly so only you could hear. "You were born five weeks premature, you–" you punched him in the arm as you stepped past him into the hallway.

"I'm so ready, I'll bring all of my opinions," you joked when you saw Poppy walk over, followed closely behind by Joe.

"Good, I'm going to need them."

"I'll bring mine too," Joe said, but earned an immediate scoff from his friend.

"No, leave those at home, you're just there for moral support. You need to tell me I look pretty in everything, and then I'll let the women be honest with me," Poppy said and you saw how they made eye-contact for a second.

It was wild how they looked in love when they locked eyes like that.

You snuck a quick glance at Mark to see if he noticed anything, but he had his phone out and you saw he had his agenda open, busy putting in when the wedding shower would be.

"I'm heading out," you broke their stare and all eyes turned to you.

"Me too," Joe said, and that immediately shot panic into your veins. You didn't need Joe walking you home again.

"Actually," Mark said, "I could use your help with something," And with a hand on his shoulder, Mark turned Joe back towards the kitchen.

"Bye," you called, and Mark waved a hand over his shoulder without looking back.

You didn't know if your face had given you away, if you'd been obvious about it, or if Mark had just sensed it within you, but you were grateful. Grateful you got to slip out of the house by yourself, void of any awkward embarrassing interaction with Joe. Just a small tiny wave for Poppy that got a bright smile of hers in return, and the door shut behind you.

Nice.

You could save all the tension for the next day. You just hoped it wouldn't get too weird. Tomorrow was going to be all about Poppy, anyhow. There wasn't going to be any room for Joe to be distant and weird with you.

At least, that's what you thought.

The next day, you all met up outside the boutique. Poppy, her mother, her auntie who doubled up as her godmother, and her daughter, Poppy's favourite cousin. And Joe. Of course, Joe was there too.

The six of you were sat down on one large sofa, everything pristine white, very clean, and obviously very expensive. You didn't sit next to Joe, even though out of everyone in Poppy's entourage you knew him best. It just, it was a little weird. In this group, you had known Poppy the shortest, and were only her friend by association. Originally, anyway.

After introductions to the bridal consultant of who you all were to Poppy, Poppy got whisked off fairly quickly to have a look at some dresses and to immediately try the first one on.

Waiting whilst she got dressed took ages.

Poppy's aunt and cousin took the time to look at dresses in the storefront, to see if they could find ones they thought would look good on Poppy. Joe buried himself in his phone, which was interesting, because you knew he wasn't on social media, so what the fuck was he even doing? Playing games?

It left you and Poppy's mum to talk.

"I've always wondered," she said, kind eyes all crinkled as she smiled at you.

"Of course we know Joe," she turned and curled a hand around his wrist. Joe smiled at her for a second, far more comfortable around her than you were. Which, yea, made sense. She might as well have been his mother.

"And we know Mark, but we don't really know you, do we? I've never heard how you and Mark became such close friends,"

Oh God.

This definitely felt like a protective mother making sure her daughter wasn't going to marry an unreliable man. One who didn't secretly have a girl on the side. One that didn't hide his mistress in plain sight.

You kind of understood, though. This all came from a good place, even if you could see that the smile you got from her was now very obviously a fake one. Or, perhaps not fake, but definitely wary.

Then you saw Joe put his phone down and direct his attention to you as well. A strange grin took over his face.

He scooted his hips forward a little, getting more comfortable as his legs spread wider. He was ready to listen to a story.

"Oh, well," you waved a hand, making it seem like you and Mark were surface level mates. "Nothing crazy, we just met at school and became fast friends."

It wasn't a direct lie. Not really.

It just wasn't an answer to the question she asked.

Joe narrowed his eyes at you and then frowned a little.

"You and Poppy met at school, didn't you?" Poppy's mum turned back to Joe, who immediately smiled at her and nodded. "Year 4," Joe added, and it was wild to see how fond she was of him.

Poster boy Joseph.

Probably the perfect son-in-law in her eyes. You wondered how much she despised that Joe wasn't the one marrying her daughter. How much she wanted Joe to be a true part of her family.

Instead she'd gotten Mark. And Mark came with an attachment.

You.

"Mark and I met when I was 14, and, you know him," you said, unsure if she actually did. "One big, kind softie."

The two of you laughed. Bonded over the fact that Mark was hardly soft - he could easily intimidate with just a simple look. He could be soft, sure. But he didn't look it.

Not the way that Joe looked soft, you thought.

The bridal consultant walked out and called everyone back to the sofa. Poppy was about to walk out in the first wedding dress she'd ever put on her body.

This was a big moment.

With everyone in position, Poppy got introduced all officially, and then she stepped out, dressed in an awful looking huge pile of tule that engulfed all of her. Absolutely ate her alive. She looked excited, but very self-conscious.

Her mother clapped in her hands excitedly and was already close to tears.

You looked at Joe who, Jesus Christ, looked absolutely smitten.

What was fucking wrong with him?

Poppy's aunt and cousin had huge big smiles on their faces and, oh my God, were you going to be the only one to tell her that you didn't like the dress on her at all?

Poppy got placed in front of a mirror and took a good look before she turned to face all of you.

"And?" Poppy questioned, eyes hopeful but terrified.

Her mother burst into tears.

Oh shit.

Joe immediately handed over a tissue from a box next to him.

"You look gorgeous," he said as he comforted Poppy's mum.

And she did look gorgeous. That wasn't the issue here.

Poppy got praised left right and centre, and you paid close attention to her face. For a moment you thought you weren't going to be able to give your honest opinion, because you saw her bloom, thriving on the kind words she was receiving from everyone.

However, when the consultant asked Poppy what she thought of it herself, Poppy turned back to look at herself in the mirror and hesitated.

Thank fuck.

Poppy made eye-contact with you in the mirror and gave you a questioning look.

"Pop, you look fantastic in white. Most beautiful bride. I'm being honest. Your skin looks like it's glowing, it's gorgeous... but, babe," you bit your lips into your mouth for a second, and considered the reaction you were going to get from the rest of the sofa.

"This dress looks awful,"

You saw heads snap towards you from your peripheral vision. You kept your eyes trained on Pop. Kind eyes. Real sympathetic ones.

The air was tense and you all waited for Poppy's reaction.

"I know," Poppy replied before she burst into laughter.

You could practically feel the whole sofa relax.

"It's not really your style, is it?" Poppy's cousin added.

"Far too cupcakey," Poppy said and scrunched up her nose as she picked at some tule and faffed with it to show what she meant.

"All right, less cupcakey, got it," the bridal consultant smiled.

The tone had been set. Good. You were glad. If everyone was just going to tell Poppy she looked great in every single dress, this whole appointment would be useless.

There was some more back and forth, people mentioning what they did like about the dress she was in, people adding how maybe this or that change would make it be more Poppy, and when Poppy disappeared into the dressing room to try on another dress, her mother reached a hand that grabbed onto your knee for a second.

"Thank you," this time you could see that her smile was sincere. "She deserves good friends like you."

You looked at Joe and couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. You were getting praised for being a good mate when Poppy's literal platonic soulmate was sat on the other side of her.

Joe eyes darted and only landed on you for a second.

Big cringe.

"Poppy deserves the world," you agreed. "And a beautiful dress," the cousin added, to which you all hummed and nodded. She really did.

Poppy tried on a few more dresses before she stepped out and was already in tears herself.

This was it.

It was the one.

Poppy knew it was the one, she could feel it in her bones and it radiated off of her.

She looked stunning.

Like, seriously stunning.

Mark was really fucking lucky.

It only took one look for her mother to start crying again, and before long, it was just you, Joe and the consultant with dry faces. Everyone else had tears streaming down.

"That's it," you said, and Poppy nodded with a shaky inhale and a wobbly smile. "That's the dress."

Her mother absolutely broke down then, and stood up to hug the girl in the beautiful white gown. It got quickly followed by her aunt who was trying her hardest not to let her mascara run, and Joe was just handing out tissues all 'round like his life depended on it.

He passed you one, which you took, but then held up questioningly.

"You're supposed to cry," Joe spoke out of the side of his mouth, his face in a faux panic over the fact that you weren't. He waved a hand in a small circle that was meant to say, hurry up with those tears, and it made you roll your eyes at him.

You stuck the tissue into your pocket and looked at the ladies stood by the mirrors.

This felt like a moment.

One you weren't part of. You weren't family, and you got the strong sense you were intruding.

The bridal consultant stepped back past the curtains that lead to the dressing room, and you thought she must have been thinking the same thing.

When Poppy's mother started talking about Poppy's birth, reminiscing about her sweet little baby girl, you knew you were right. Time to give them some space. You got up, excused yourself to Poppy's cousin who seemed to be drowning in self-pity over being single more than anything else, and escaped into the front of the store.

For a second you thought you could just busy yourself, looking through dresses, or whatever, but when you saw the door, some fresh air sounded divine.

It was nice out. Sunny. Slight breeze. Not very warm yet, but, the sun on your skin was bright enough to warm it.

You checked the time, and upon seeing how much time had already passed, you realised you were actually quite hungry. How bad would it be if you darted off get your hands on some food?

You didn't get to think about it long.

The door to the wedding boutique opened, and Joe stepped out.

Thinking that he'd been sent out to come and get you, you were about to tell him that you were just getting some fresh air and would be back inside in a minute. But then, Joe revealed a packet of cigarettes from a pocket and you realised he was joining you out on the pavement.

"Got a bit too emosh in there?" you asked.

Joe nodded as he took his first drag. A good, long one. He seemed insanely uncomfortable.

"I know it's a whole thing," Joe waved his hand around and made a stupid face. "But, fuck me, over five thousand pounds for a dress?"

Jesus fucking Christ.

Of course the dress Poppy was going to get was over five thousand pounds. Of fucking course.

Joe shook his head, and even though you agreed, you thought you had a little case of a pot calling a kettle black on your hands here. Joe looked like he was wearing designer pieces exclusively. He probably had gotten a lot of it for free, but retail value would easily be a couple thousand.

So, you wanted to defend Poppy a little.

"If she loves it, she loves it," you shrugged.

"Yea, no, of course,"

"And she looks great,"

"She does."

Joe was quick to just go along with you. Didn't want to ruffle any feathers. He was but a man, one who didn't really get it, but the ladies inside were really going through something together, and when Joe saw you sneak away, he'd followed your lead and had done the same.

"Poppy's got nice family,"

You'd only briefly seen her mother once, but had never actually spoken to her before. Her aunt and cousin were completely strangers to you, but they honestly did seem lovely.

"She does," Joe said, and he let another silence follow as he looked down the street, away from you.

Jeez, Joe. Come on, put some effort in.

"Though her mother definitely doesn't trust me," you couldn't help the slight chuckle at yourself.

Joe's eyes found yours, and he huffed a laugh as he exhaled thick white smoke that immediately blew upwards.

"Nah," he started, "She's all right,"

You looked down at your feet a moment.

"It didn't help that you pretended you barely even know Mark at all," Joe reminded you, and you looked up at him, about to share that she did say that Poppy deserved friends like you, but something about the way Joe was looking at you made the words linger in your lungs.

"What was that about?"

In all the years that you and Joe had avoided conversations like these, suddenly, it felt like the most natural thing between you.

To be talking about your friends like this.

You wondered what changed.

"I... I could tell you, but, I need to warn you. I might cry."

Joe didn't say anything. Just smoked.

"Is being in the vicinity of four crying women not enough?"

It was meant as a joke, but you knew that even just thinking about the start of your friendship with Mark could make your throat hurt.

"No? Need one more?"

You hid your smile badly, but you poked Joe right where it hurt. Joe thought he'd said something wrong and immediately backed off. You thought he either didn't get social cues, just in general, or that maybe you'd been right before, and Joe really didn't actually like you. He'd just tried to be nice for Poppy's sake.

You couldn't even be mad. That just made him a good friend. It just sucked that you had to bear the brunt of it.

But you were kind, remember? So after a short moment of silence, you decided to just tell him anyway.

"When I was 14, my, um... experience, with boys, and honestly, too many adult men, was very..."

You forgot that having to tell him meant you had to say the actual words. Verbalise them. Speak them into the air, just... outside, where you were stood on the pavement, for strangers to hear. For Joe to hear.

"How can I put this without it sounding too dramatic... basically, any time a boy was friendly to me, and I thought I'd made a friend, it was... it was never just friendly. There was always a point where suddenly, they wanted to put their sweaty little teenage hands in... places,"

Oh God, you couldn't look Joe in the eye for this.

"And I don't know, it just... if every time you think you've made a friend you end up finding out that they aren't actually a friend, it um... fucked me up, a little bit,"

You were going to brush over the adult men you mentioned.

"Not to mention the way that you'd then get treated after when you'd kindly say, no thanks, I'd like us to remain friends, please,"

You recalled the way they'd speak to you. Would look at you. Like you'd personally done them a great disservice. Like not letting them touch your tits was the most vile thing you could've ever done to them.

"Adult men?"

Fuck.

Joe's voice couldn't sound smaller if he'd tried.

"Yea, you know... just," you shrugged. Eyes down. This was just what things were like. "Teachers who would squeeze your shoulder for a second too long when they'd reassure you that you really were a beautiful young girl, or, my dad's coworkers that would comment on them being disappointed I wouldn't be in my schooluniform if they'd visit on the weekends,"

"Fucking hell,"

"It's whatever," you kick stomped a foot into the pavement. "It's not like I was molested or anything,"

Joe didn't say anything.

"But so, I'd turned down one of Mark's classmates who couldn't really deal with that and tried to spread rumours, you know, just... teenage boy behaviour, no offence,"

Joe thought back to his own teenage years. Of classmates calling girls lesbians because they avoided kissing them at a park gathering over the weekend. Or them calling girls slags for the exact same reason.

"Mark just... Mark decided to become my friend, and then, actually became my friend. It took me ages to trust that he wouldn't one day try to roll onto me to make out. I just... I kept waiting for him to make a move and the longer it took, the more I knew the world would burn when he eventually would–"

"Pocket," Joe suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"You've got... the tissue I gave you, you put it in your pocket,"

Oh shit. You were crying. A stupid laugh escaped you and you were quick to find the crumpled up piece of tissue.

"I'm all right, honestly," you said, unable to not laugh at yourself. "It's just... it's dumb how much it meant for me to find a friend who wasn't romantically interested in the slightest,"

"I don't think that's dumb,"

Joe looked at you with impossibly big, rounded eyes. All full of things like... empathy, and softness. Zero judgment.

"Well. It is." You concluded. Last thing you needed was for Joe to feel sorry for you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that being betrayed and backstabbed a lot as a young girl means that– like, obviously that does– that's not, it's not dumb,"

Joe was going to have to stop talking if he didn't want you to break down right in front of him.

"It's– I think it's profoundly human that those type of things have an impact. Things like that leave marks, don't they?"

The sob that wretched itself from you was the worst thing your body had ever done to you in public. In front of Joe, no less.

It made you duck into yourself, and Joe's arms were around you in an instant. You imagined that Joe hugging you would be arms barely there. Body held back. Just, soft pats on a shoulder blade for just a second.

But it was none of that.

Joe's arms held a lot of strength. Squeezed your ribs tightly. Compressed you. A large palm covered the entire back of your head as he pressed it into the space below his chin.

It somehow eased everything immediately.

Joe smelled nice.

Was warm.

"It's not dumb," Joe started, his voice all soft and velvety. "You're–" but then a loud knock on glass interrupted him and made the two of you turn your heads to see Poppy stood in front of the window. Crying.

The two of you looked at each other, and Poppy's face only scrunched up more at the sight of you.

"Look at her," you said to Joe as he let you go and you didn't even wait for him to finish was he was about to say to you. You rushed inside where Poppy and you fell into a massive hug.

"Are you all right?" she hiccuped through a whisper.

"I am," you smiled over her shoulder. "You just look so very beautiful, it's hard to bear,"

You got a wet laugh out of her before you pulled back.

"This is what you're going to be wearing, right?"

"This is the one," Poppy beamed, and the urge to hug her close overtook again.

By now Joe had made it inside, and you could see him look at the two of you from the side.

"Your wedding is going to be so gorgeous, you have no idea. I can't fucking wait," you said, and Poppy's grip around your neck tightened in excitement.

"It'll be the best day," you continued. "The weather will be lovely, and everyone you love is going to be there to witness you and Mark, saying yes to each other. It'll be beautiful, everyone will be so happy. Good vibes only."

"Don't," Poppy sniffled. "Please don't lose the rings,"

You immediately dropped your shoulders, and a few steps away, Joe let out a loud belly laugh.

You were quick to flip him off behind Poppy's back before pulling back out of Poppy's embrace. Your middle finger aimed at him only made Joe laugh louder.

"Of course I won't," you smiled sweetly at her.

"Trust me. I won't."

—

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s  @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[nananamunsons]

Chapter 2: Don't Know What You've Got Till it's Gone

Collaboration with the Dustin to my Suzie, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie are getting closer, and his friends can't help but notice something between you two. But when you receive devastating news, the pressure of being his upbeat, optimistic Sunshine becomes too much to handle.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst

WC: 6.6k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“Yeah, well, next time I tell you not to be a hero, you’d better listen to me.” A man’s voice stirs you from your sleep. You gently roll over onto your side and see fuzzy shadows behind the curtain that separates you and Eddie. 

“Hold on, Harrington,” Eddie pushes himself up slightly, an edge to his voice. “What do you mean by next time?”

“He’s still out there,” a younger voice pipes up. “We wounded him, but—” He stops abruptly, turning his stocky frame towards the curtain. “Hey, can your roommate hear us?”

“She can!” you chirp, and utterances of shit and shut up fill the room. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone about your nerdy D&D secrets.” Eddie had spent the better part of the last few days explaining the ins and outs of the game, taking far too much pride in his Dungeon Master status for a man pushing 20. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Eddie calls out. “You decent? Want you to meet my friends.” 

“Sorry, did we wake you?” A girl asks, but your view of her is obstructed by the curtain. “We have a tendency to be a little…”

“Loud?” The older of the guys offers. “Obnoxious? Grating?”

The boy shrugs. “That’s just the way we roll, man.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” The first guy retorts.

“I’m all good, Eddie,” you say. Now that you’ve given the all clear, the older boy tugs back the curtain. You recognize him as Steve Harrington, who graduated with you last year. 

“Steve,” he says, sticking out his hand for you to shake. “And, FYI, I do not play Dungeons & Dragons.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter as you shake his hand and introduce yourself. “A shame. Eddie makes it seem like such fun.” At your sarcastic tone, Eddie flips you off, but you ignore him and continue. “We, uh, actually graduated together.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, eyebrows shooting up so high they almost blend into his perfectly coiffed hair. “Huh. You think I’d remember that.” 

“I mean, it’s understandable you’d forget,” you say with a shrug. “You had just lost the last basketball game of the season.”

“Ouch,” Steve says, holding a hand over his heart. “But that doesn’t excuse the four years we were in the same class.”

Wincing, you give Steve another shrug. “More like seven. We went to middle school together, too.”

“Well, shit,” Steve says, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I was a douchebag.”

“Was?” a feminine voice chimes in. Steve rolls his eyes and turns to the side to reveal the younger guy and a girl your age that are sitting next to Eddie’s bed.

“Robin, right?” you ask. She perks up in her seat, seeming pleasantly surprised that you know her name. 

“Yeah,” she says.

“You’re in band, right? I’m friends with Vickie, and I know she’s mentioned you a few times,” you explain.

“R-Really?” Robin asks, eyes widening.

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, watching an unmistakable grin grow from cheek to cheek. You’ll have to follow up on that another time if you have a moment alone with her. “And you are…?” you start, turning towards the curly haired boy hoisting himself up on crutches, braces adorning his teeth. 

“Dustin Henderson,” he affirms. “Artificer: Master Inventor and future Hawkins High valedictorian.” You shake his hand, giggling as the three older friends roll their eyes in unison at his introduction. 

“Don’t forget ladies’ man,” Robin taunts, and Dustin hoists up two middle fingers in response, fumbling to keep the crutches secured under his arms. 

“Sunshine here is a ballet dancer,” Eddie says, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of love. You watch as Steve and Robin exchange an amused glance, with the former mouthing Sunshine and the latter just shrugging. “She does, um, pointe?” He looks at you hopefully. 

You nod. “Yup! I’ll be right back at it as soon as this bad boy heals up.” You gently pat your leg, grimacing as even the lightest touch sends sharp pains down to your toes. 

You talk with the group for a few more minutes, swapping gossip about people from your graduating class, until Mandy knocks on the door. “It’s time for your appointment with the surgeon,” she says politely. 

“Surgeon?” Eddie asks, brows crinkling in confusion. 

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, leaning on the nurse as you maneuver into the wheelchair. “Just, um, protocol with this kind of injury. Make sure everything’s good and all that.” He seems to buy this answer, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. “It was nice talking with you all!” 

Once you’re out of the room, Dustin turns to Eddie. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sunshine?”

“Shut up, Henderson,” Eddie grumbles, throwing a pillow at the boy. 

“Yeah, be nice to him,” Robin teases. “That nurse just took his sunshine away!”

“So, are you involved with this sunshine?” Steve asks, an amused expression written all across his face.

“No, not like that,” Eddie says, suddenly finding the hem of his scratchy blanket fascinating. “Just friends.” 

“You guys get along well,” Robin says, more statement than a question.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.

“And she’s beautiful, yeah?” Robin asks, raising her eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” she asks.

Eddie groans, dropping his head back against his pillow. Never mind the fact that Steve “ladies man” Harrington–an actual ladies’ man, not like Henderson–is in the room, but Eddie’s never been particularly comfortable talking about his experience—or rather lack thereof—with girls. There’s also the fact that he was literally attacked by bats from an alternate dimension, barely escaping hell with his life intact. And you’re so bright and sunny and the total opposite of what Eddie brings to the table. 

“It’s just that she… I mean, I… you see, we—.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Munson. Stop playing games. We all see the spark,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly. 

“There’s a spark?” Eddie asks quietly, lifting his head from the pillow and infinitesimal amount. 

“I knew it!” Dustin exclaims loudly, earning an angry shush from someone passing through the hallway. “Look at the stupid grin on his face! Eddie wuvs his Sunshine!” He leans over to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but gets his hand slapped away. 

“I don’t love her!” Eddie hisses. “Now, if you idiots could stop bothering me about this, and we can talk about anything else.”

“Okay, we’ll stop,” Robin agrees, but the mischievous smirk on her face says otherwise, “when you look me in the eyes and can tell me you don’t have feelings for her.”

Eddie lays back down and pulls the covers up over his head. “Goodnight and goodbye,” he mutters, despite the fact that it’s only 10 AM.

Steve yanks the covers back down, laughing when he sees his new friend scowling. “Calm down, man,” he says, sitting down on the starchy blanket, careful not to bump into Eddie. “We’re just messing with you. We’ll behave now.” He shoots Dustin and Robin a warning look, and the two grumble their apologies.

“‘S fine,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m tired anyway, so…” He lets his gaze fall to the doorway. 

“Yeah, of course,” Robin says with a small smile. “We’ll visit soon.”

“Get well soon, buddy,” Dustin lowers his voice as quietly as he can—which isn’t saying much, given his normal volume. “The kids of the future are counting on more of your sadistic campaigns.”

As Eddie slips into a medicated slumber, he makes a silent prayer for sweet dreams. Your image appears in his mind, and he can’t deny the warmth it brings him. 

Shit, he thinks. Those morons were right. I have a thing for Sunshine. He hopes that he’ll dream of you now that he’s admitted his crush. 

No such luck. 

The skies are red and gray, strange bursts of some sort of lightning fill the air. Weird shrill squeals fill the dead air. Eddie’s body is full of pain, searing and bleeding wounds making it difficult to breathe. Quick gasps leave his lips, his hands clutching at the ripped shreds of his shirt.

“Eddie! Shit!” Dustin’s voice rings around Eddie. The shorter boy is somewhere in the distance, not too far. “Steve! SOS! SOS!”

Soon, two pairs of hands are on Eddie’s body, trying to help, but only making the pain worse. He tries to steal himself against it, but it’s no use. The tears come, hot and thick as they build up in his eyes. The fear, the desperation, the pain. It’s all too much. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s not Steve or Dustin’s voice that Eddie hears above it all. It’s yours. But what are you doing in this God awful place? It’s the very last place that Eddie wants you.

“Eddie!” 

The darkness in the sky fades, a subtle light beginning to shine through. Then, the next thing he knows, Eddie is blinking his eyes open in the bright hospital room, his face sticky with the trail of tears. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Once his vision is cleared, he sees you being wheeled into the room in the wheelchair you were brought out in. Your face is pinched in concern and it takes Eddie a moment to realize you’re concerned for him.

“Can you wheel me over to Eddie’s bed instead? Thanks,” you say to the transporter, who does as you request. Eddie scoots over and pulls down his blankets, silently offering you the space next to him. Biting your lip, you look around as if you’re debating, before pushing yourself up onto your good leg and holding out your arms for balance. Immediately, Eddie reaches over and takes your hand so you can use him to steady yourself. Shooting him a grateful smile, you’re able to situate yourself on the edge of his bed.

The transporter looks like he doesn’t know if he should be allowing this or not, so he quickly puts his head down and leaves the room with the wheelchair. Eddie helps you get situated next to him before he pulls the blankets up over both of you. 

“Another bad dream?” you ask once you’re comfortable.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. 

“Was it as bad as the first time?”

“At first. But I heard you calling me a lot earlier this time. Got all nice and light again before I opened my eyes. How’d it go with the surgeon?” 

“Oh,” you say, averting your eyes. “Nothing special. Just going over X-rays and tests and stuff, ya know?” You clear your throat, anxious to have the subject changed. “You know when you’re getting out of here?”

“Not yet,” Eddie says, sinking back against his pillows.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out?” you ask.

“Honestly? Get a fucking cheeseburger. This hospital food is shit. I mean, come on. What a man gotta do to get something better than gray mashed potatoes and lime Jell-O?”

“Okay,” you say with a giggle. “After you get some good food, what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, come on,” you say. “What’s Eddie Munson’s big dream? Be a big rock star? World tours? Opening for Ozzy? No—Ozzy opening for you.”

Eddie scoffs, gently nudging your shoulder with his. “Before all…this…happened, I was thinking about moving to Indianapolis after graduation. Get involved in the music scene there.”

“Indianapolis?” You wrinkle your nose. “That’s honestly super boring. You survived an earthquake and you’re only gonna go to the state capital?”

“Fine,” he whines exaggeratedly, smiling as he does it. “How about…Australia? I can be, like, a kangaroo farmer.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“It is now.” His loose, tangled curls brush up against the part of your shoulder left exposed by the pale blue hospital gown. “What about you? New York City? Maybe dance on Broadway, or be one of those…Christmas, kicking girls?”

You snort out a laugh. “A Rockette?”

“Yeah.”

“Eh,” you shrug, pushing away the thoughts of the news you’d just received from the surgeon. “New York’s nice to visit, but I need someplace warm. I’m thinking of going to California.”

“Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big Hollywood star,” Eddie teases, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. “And if the movie you’re dancing in needs a band, you know who to recommend.”

“Of course. But do you really think I could get Tears for Fears to play?” His shove is a bit harder this time, making both of you groan as you laugh. “Kidding, kidding. You know Corroded Coffin will be at the top of my list. If you’re not too busy with your own gigs.”

Never too busy for my Sunshine, Eddie nearly blurts out, but he says instead, “will do.” He’s silent for a bit before asking, “Why didn’t you go to California?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you going to college in Indiana and not California?” Eddie tries again. “I mean, you said it yourself: the entertainment scene is much better there than here.” He scrunches up his nose. “Actually, why are you even in college?”

You bark out a laugh at the bluntness of his question. “Um, because that’s what people do after high school?”

“You don’t have to, though,” he quips. “Think about it, Sunshine. College will always be there, but if you wanna pursue dance, you’ve gotta do it while you’re young and, uh, limber.” His cheeks blush a delicious shade of pink. 

“Yeah, well.” The truth comes tumbling out before you can stop it. “My parents didn’t think it was a good idea. Just dancing. They wanted me to go to get my degree; build a ‘solid foundation’ or whatever.” You trace invisible spirals into the blanket as you speak. “My dad told me that he could never tell his friends that I danced for a living, because they would, and I quote, ‘think that his daughter was a stripper with daddy issues.’”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “First of all, stripping is a noble profession, and I do not approve of any stripper slander in my home.”

“We’re not in your home,” you point out. 

“I do not approve of any stripper slander in my hospital room,” he amends, flicking your forehead with his thumb and middle finger. “And, second, do not tell me that you made a decision about your future based on the opinions of your dad’s old-ass friends.” He groans when you remain quiet. “Seriously?”

“I just didn’t want to upset them,” you mumble. “The only reason they allowed me to study dance is because I’m also majoring in education. I could be a dance teacher.”

“Do you wanna be a dance teacher?”

“Someday,” you admit. “I taught some classes at my studio for the little kids, and I really liked it.” You gnaw at your lower lip. 

“But?” Eddie presses, letting his thumb graze against yours. 

“But it’s not what I want to do now,” you relent. “Right now, I want to go on auditions and maybe get cast in a play or a cheesy music video or a goddamn commercial and…and dance.”

Eddie gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, not wanting to cross a boundary when you’re so vulnerable. “Then you’re gonna dance,” he murmurs. “We’ll get outta here and move to Cali, and you’re gonna dance.”

A month ago, the prospect of dropping out of school to dance professionally would have you downright terrified. Terrified of failure, of your parents’ inevitable disappointment, of finding out you’re not good enough. But now it only fills you with regret, because that dream became impossible with just the shifting of some rogue tectonic plates. 

“Okay,” you say softly, once again wearing your hopeful façade. “Sounds like a plan.” A plan you’ll both easily forget once you’re back out in the real world, faced with the problems you’ve been shielded from within the hospital walls. 

The two of you lay there talking about your futures until sleep overtakes you both. Eddie’s the first to drift off; you stay awake for a bit, consumed by echoes of today’s appointment with Dr. Sanoj. What was supposed to be a brief meeting about scheduling your surgery turned into something much more devastating. You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, only allowing yourself to unravel when you hear his soft snores. The combination of the energy expended by crying and the drowsiness from your meds allows you to sleep, still hiccuping from tears as you fall into a dreamless slumber. 

Neither of you hear the soft click of crutches as Dustin hobbles back into the room. “Forgot my—son of a bitch, I knew it!” he whispers, slinging his left-behind jacket over his shoulder. “Steve and Robin are gonna lose their shit!”

The next morning, Mandy arrives with breakfast and medication. In front of each of you, she places a plate of runny scrambled eggs, fruit that is described as “fresh” but most certainly is not, and a small carton of orange juice. It’s strangely domestic, and you can’t help but imagine you and Eddie eating together in your shared home. You’re making pancakes or waffles or frittatas—anything better than the food in front of you. Eddie’s frying up bacon, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef, and you do, over and over and—

The rattle of your pill cup snaps you from your fantasy, and you dutifully swallow the pastel tablets with a swig of juice. 

Eddie grins when Mandy gives him his meds. “Hello, beautiful,” he croons, making grabby motions with his calloused hands. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson; no more painkillers in this batch,” Mandy says, laughing at his pout despite herself. “Dr. Franklin wants to speak with you; he’ll be making his rounds in a few minutes.”

“Oooh, Eddie’s in trooouble!” you sing-song, flashing a grin at him. 

Rolling his eyes at you, Eddie downs his pills and leans back against his pillow. “Would be used to it. Was in Higgin’s office enough.”

“Oh, Eddie,” you say with a sigh. “Did you go down to the cafeteria while I was asleep and make some big dramatic speech on one of the tables? At least tell me that someone videotaped it for me.”

“You’re hilarious,” he says, tossing his empty paper cup at you. The giggle you let out has his stomach feeling tingly, and he’s sure it’s not from the medications. 

There’s a knock on the open door to your room and an older man steps inside, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Hey, Eddie. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks, doc,” Eddie answers. “What’s the word?”

“Well, glad to say everything looks good. All lab results are normal and you’re healing up nicely. Of course, some injuries still have a ways to go, but there’s no reason you can’t be home for that.”

Eddie’s immediately thrilled. Finally, being able to get out of the hospital where he’s been poked and prodded and it’s impossible to get a good night’s sleep because of all the beeping equipment and nurses constantly checking on you. But as soon as the excitement came, it went. Because leaving the hospital also meant not spending most of the hours in the day by your side. No waking up to your laughter as he tells shitty jokes over your shitty breakfasts. No more saying, “I told you so” when Shelby confesses to the other twin, “I’m still in love with you” on your daily soap opera binges. No more constant sunshine.

“That’s great,” Eddie tells the doctor, his heart not behind the words. “When am I sprung?”

“Should be good to go tomorrow morning. I’m just gonna head back to my office, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, put my name on the X. You know, all that official mumbo jumbo. I’ll have Mandy get everything together. Your prescriptions, your discharge papers, and whatever else you’ll need.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says, nails scratching at the blanket in his lap. 

“Any questions for me?” The doctor asks. When Eddie shakes his head, the doctor gives him a smile and pats Eddie’s leg. 

“Oh, I have one,” you say, raising your hand from where you’re tucked up in bed. “When is he cleared to shower? It’s like sharing a room with a donkey.”

The doctor lets out a small chuckle. “Eddie, you are officially cleared to take a shower. If you think of any questions, just tell Mandy. She’ll make sure I get the message.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Eddie nods his head at the man as he steps out of the room. Eddie turns his head to see you grinning at him. While it’s a beautiful sight, it now gives him a melancholy feeling. 

“You’re being freed!” you call. “You can go get that cheeseburger tomorrow!”

“Should I sneak one into you?” Eddie asks, his smirk not packing its usual punch. 

“Oh, please do,” you say. “God, I can practically taste it.”

“Or smell it? Like, how apparently you’re smelling me?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. Part of him is a little embarrassed because the two of you were sitting so close together just last night. 

“You’re not that bad,” you tell him. “I probably smell vile.”

Not a chance, Eddie thinks. “All right, well, I guess I’ll go take a shower then.” He stands up from the bed and over to the small pile of clothes Wayne had brought him the other day. Just some old t-shirts and comfortable pajama pants to sleep in, but it was still nice to have a touch of home. 

Once Eddie has closed the bathroom door behind him, Mandy comes in to check your vitals. 

“Heard the good news,” she says as she reads the numbers of your blood pressure. “Gonna be weird having a room to yourself? You guys have been inseparable.”

Your face heats at her words and you look down at your lap as she scribbles something into your chart. “S’fine,” you say with a shrug. Mandy looks down at you, a knowing smile on her lips. 

“Uh huh,” she says as she clicks her pen. “Well, all your numbers are good. They stay this way, you’ll be headed to the operating room before you know it. Need anything?”

“No,” you say, downcast eyes on your blanket. 

A bang from the en suite bathroom has both you and Mandy craning your heads in that direction.

“I’m good!” Eddie shouts. “Just dropped the shampoo!”

It makes you chuckle and Mandy shakes her head, fondly. You think she’s going to miss him, too. 

“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” you say to Mandy as she heads out the door. Sighing to yourself, you cuddle up in your blankets and decide to have a five minute pity party. Not only are you facing multiple surgeries over the foreseeable future, but Eddie won’t be here by your side to keep your spirits up. Sure, maybe he calls you his sunshine, but you’re positive he isn’t aware of how much he brightens your days too. The water turns off in the bathroom and you quickly wipe your hands over your cheeks, trying to catch any pesky tears that may have slipped free. 

The curtain in the middle of the room is opened—it’s only ever closed anymore if a doctor or nurse needs it to be for some reason. It allows you to see the bathroom door open, but before you see him, you can hear Eddie mumbling to himself.

“Man knows how to do laundry. What the hell is this? A fucking toddler shirt?” When you finally see him, your breath is caught in your chest—for two reasons. One, the teenage girl in you can’t help but respond this way to seeing the guy you have a crush on without his shirt. Two, you’d never really heard the whole story of why Eddie had to come to the hospital, and seeing the puckered and pulled flesh of his chest makes your heart ache. There’s bruising leaving purple and brown spots on top of red and pink gashes that are healing. It looks painful and searing against his otherwise pale white skin. 

You know better than to stare. Obviously he’d assume you’re just staring at the scars, not admiring the small but sculpted muscles beneath them. It takes a Herculean effort to pull your gaze from his body and look down in your lap.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles as he stomps over to his pile of clothes. He rummages through them until he finds another shirt. He’s quick in slipping it on, then turns towards your bed. Taking the few steps over in your direction, he sits down on the bottom corner of your bed. When you look up, there’s half a smile on his face as he plays with a small white cloth in his hands. “Believe it or not, this used to be a shirt that fit me.” He holds the cloth up and you see it’s a Guns N’ Roses shirt that’s been shrunk until only a child could fit into it. “My uncle must’ve shrunk it. Guess that’s payback for all the times I turned his white shirts pink because I left a pair of red boxers in the washer.”

“Led Zeppelin is better anyway,” you say, gesturing to the shirt he’s currently wearing. 

“So, uh,” Eddie says, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with the too-small tee. “You saw the scars, huh?”

“I did,” you say in a quiet voice. His cheeks turn red and it breaks your heart. “No, please don’t be embarrassed, Eddie. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Shutting it again, Eddie shakes his head. “I, um… they just. They’re—what I mean…”

“Eddie, take a breath. It’s okay.” You go to reach for his hand, but you can’t bend enough due to your injured leg. Eddie shifts so he’s facing you and leans the rest of the way so you can take his hand. “There’s no scar you could have that would make me think any less of you. Plus, you haven’t seen my leg. It looks pretty gnarly.”

“Gnarly?” Eddie asks, looking up at you underneath his eyelashes, the tiniest smile on his lips. 

“Yeah, I’m preparing for that California life,” you tease him. “Gotta fit in with the surfer dudes.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “As soon as you get the OK, I’m booking our tickets.” He shoves the pillow out of the way and sits on top of the blanket. “I can’t afford first-class, so coach will have to do.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not a diva—yet,” you add, excited to play along with the fantasy game he has going on. “I can handle a few hours with the common folk.”

“And we thank you for gracing us with your presence.” Eddie’s eyes flit back to your leg. “When do you think you’ll be good to go?”

Dr. Sanoj told you that between surgeries and recovery, it’ll be at least six weeks, but you bite back that information. “Any day now,” you lie. “Just waiting on those discharge papers. But you know how that can be, with all the sign offs. Everyone’s gotta cross their t’s and dot their i’s.” Good God, shut up, you think. 

“Cool,” Eddie nods. He looks deep in thought, tongue poking out in concentration. “Yeah, all right. I can make it work.”

You smile, rolling your eyes playfully at his commitment to the bit. Your pain meds start to kick in, and you drift off into a hazy sleep. 

While you’re passed out, there’s a soft knock on the door. 

“Oh, she’s asleep,” Eddie hears a woman’s voice softly murmur. There’s a slight creak as she sits in the chair next to your bed. “My sweet girl. Mom’s here.”

Your mom. Eddie uses his elbows to push himself up, pulling the curtain back a few inches. 

“Um, hi,” he says, not realizing how nervous he is until he actually starts talking. “Are you Sunshine’s mom?”

The woman’s brow crinkles. “Sunshine?”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yeah, I, uh, I call her Sunshine,” he stammers, nodding in your direction. 

“Then, yes, I’m Sunshine’s mom.”

“She, um, she’s—I call her Sunshine because she brightens up my day. Probably the only person in this building who doesn’t hate my guts, let alone like me.” He wants to stop talking, but he can’t. “I have these nightmares, y’know? From the, uh, earthquake thing. And she always pulls me outta them. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I go home tomorrow.”

Your mom gives Eddie a sympathetic smile, gently stroking your hand, minding the needle poking into it. “Well, she’s always telling me how much you make her laugh. Lord knows she could use some happiness in her life.” She sighs. “I just hope her new roommate is as kind as you.”

“At least she’s getting outta here soon,” Eddie offers, “so even if she has a shi—bad roommate, it won’t be for long.”

“Six weeks isn’t exactly ‘soon,’” your mom says. Her gaze doesn’t leave your face, so peaceful in your sleep. 

“Wait, six weeks?” Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue in surprise. “No, she told me that the doctor should clear her in the next coupla days.”

Your mom shakes her head. “She’s got three surgeries to fix that broken femur, plus recovery time. The reason it’s only six weeks is because she’s young and healthy.”

Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Why would you lie to him? Get him pumped up about the prospect of moving to California, living out your dreams together, for it to all be bullshit?

Tears prick at his eyes. Maybe this was all just a joke, a stupid prank on your part. Make the Freak think that someone actually cared about him, laughing behind his back the whole time. 

Maybe it’s best that he’s leaving tomorrow. Then he won’t have to listen to you drag him along for your own sick entertainment. 

You wake up around dinnertime, stretching your limbs as much as your limited mobility allows. It’s a far cry from your usual limber exercises, but it’s enough to get the blood flowing through your body. 

An episode of Wheel of Fortune plays from the TV in the corner, but it’s blocked by the curtain. Eddie probably closed it while I slept, you think. That’s pretty much the only time you two keep the room divided; every now and then, you forget and wake up to the sight of Eddie Munson sleeping next to you. 

“Eds? You awake?”

“Yup,” is his terse reply, with no enthusiasm behind it. 

You open the curtain with a grin. “Are you grumpy because your novelas aren’t on?”

“Nope.” He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, left ankle draped over his right. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning. “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eddie finally allows his gaze to meet yours. His usual friendly doe eyes are clouded with anger. “Your mom stopped by.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Did she say something that upset you? I told her that all the murderer stuff wasn’t true, and she believed me—believed you.”

“Actually, we talked a bit about you.” The acid in his tone is enough to burn.

“What about me?” you ask, only becoming further confused by this conversation. 

Eddie huffs out a humorless chuckle and licks his tongue across his teeth. “Really thought you had me, didn’t you? Think you could pretend to be all buddy buddy with me just to mess with me? Get in my head?”

“What? Who’s in your head?” Part of you wonders if this is all some medicine-induced stress dream. “Eddie.” You push yourself up as best you can, leg aching and body suffering from general soreness from being cramped in the bed for so long. “What are you talking about? What did my mom say to you?”

This time when his eyes cut to you, there’s more than anger there. There’s fury, pain. The sight makes your heart ache, and the fact that this look is directed at you is making your head spin. 

“Just a couple of days, huh?” Eddie pushes himself to the edge of his bed so his legs hang off the side. His glare burns your skin and you feel yourself wanting to shrink down and out of sight. “That’s how long til the doctor will clear ya?”

Part of the puzzle of why Eddie was mad was starting to kick into place. Shit, you think. Mom must’ve said something about the surgeries. 

“Eddie, I—.”

“Lied? Yeah, you did. But what’s that matter when you’re lying to The Freak?”

Guilt gives way to anger in your gut as he throws this accusation at you. Not once, whether in high school with him or after, did you think of Eddie as a freak. You’ve never agreed with those who called him names and treated him as lesser than. 

“I didn’t lie to you because I think you're a freak, Eddie.” It comes out strangled between all the emotions vying to be expressed through your voice. 

“You sure about that?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and it’s hard to see a trace of the laughing and smiling Eddie you’ve become so close with. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you grit out. “I lied becau—.”

“Well, what possible other motive could there have been?” Eddie questions. His hands are gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning almost as white as the linens. 

“If you would just listen to me!”

“So you can lie some more?” Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, screw California.”

Confusion is suddenly back in your mixture of emotions. California? Why bring up that joke now? Unless…

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. “You were actually serious about going to California?”

“What?” he practically barks out. “You weren’t?”

“Eddie, I thought that was a joke,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “Some made up fantasy to get us through spending all our time in these four plain-as-fuck walls.”

“Of course you weren’t really going to do that with me,” Eddie says, a sneer curling his lip. 

“Because I didn’t know it was real!” you try to explain.

Eddie throws up his arms, grimacing as it tugs on his stitches. “Why wouldn’t it be real? Is me having a future that unbelievable?”

“What the hell are you on?” you hiss. “Eddie, you need to finish high school. And I need to get my bachelor’s degree. We can’t just be fucking off to California like it’s no big deal!”

Eddie bites his thumbnail before responding. “Let me get this straight. We narrowly escape death during this…earthquake…and you wanna just go back to our normal lives? Like we weren’t given a second chance to live?” He’s pacing around the room now. “My neighbor? Max Mayfield? Harrington told me that she’s blind now. She’s fucking blind and in a full body cast!”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, but he continues frantically walking back and forth without acknowledging you. 

“And Jason Carver. Jason fucking Carver! I hated that son of a bitch, and now he’s dead. All those times he was a piece of shit to me and I wished something would happen to him, and now it did.”

“That’s not your fault,” you try. “You didn’t cause the earthquake.”

Eddie shakes his head. “That’s all I thought about: death and sadness. And then I met you.” His eyes are shiny with tears. “Someone who liked spending time with me, who believed in me, who had these crazy dreams just like I did. A…a friend.” He wipes at his face clumsily, embarrassed to be crying. “But you’re just like the rest of them, huh?”

“That’s not fair—”

“Y’know what’s real fuckin’ funny?” Eddie smacks his hand on his bedside table. “The other day, Harrington said that we—you and I—had some kinda ‘spark’ between us.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Guess he’s just as full of shit as you are, Sunshine.” When he says the nickname now, it’s full of venom; there’s no trace of the sweet, goofy guy you’ve gotten to know. 

“Eddie, if you would just let me—” But yet again, Eddie doesn’t let you attempt to explain any of the situation. The fact that a part of you somewhere deep inside is fluttery because Steve saw a spark between you and Eddie is something you have to put away to examine at a better time. 

“Good luck with your surgery,” Eddie says. “Too bad the doctors can’t cure bitch.”

It feels like a punch to the gut, the air being knocked out of you. Your mouth opens and your lips move, but no sound comes out. There’s a crack in your heart, but it quickly feels like it’s been soldered closed with the anger bubbling up inside of you. Your lungs reinflate, the blood pumps heavily through your veins, and your fists clench where they rest in your lap. The urge to lash out is strong. And at this moment, you’re so very weak.

“You know what, Eddie? Fuck you. And hey, good luck getting to California with those murder charges on your record.” The moment the words tumble out of your mouth you wish you could take them back. Eddie stepped over the line, but you ran right past him. “Shit, I didn’t—.”

Suddenly you’re not looking at Eddie anymore. He’s pulled the curtain closed, the last glimpse you get of him is a raging fury in his eyes. And you can hardly blame him. The only thing that stares back at you is the gauzy white curtain still swaying from the forceful yank. 

“Eddie…” The television volume gets turned up to an ungodly volume, making you cover your ears and impossible to have a conversation over. 

You spend the rest of the night with your ear pressed to the pillow in an attempt to drown out the baseball game he’s watching. Given his penchant for yelling about the absurdity of sports, you doubt he’s even paying attention to it, but the broadcasters’ monologues about fastballs and strikes curtails any attempt to speak to him. You barely touch your dinner, and Mandy tuts at you worriedly, but you insist you feel fine. 

In reality, you feel nauseated. You said a horrible thing to a wonderful person, and you really hurt his feelings. 

Maybe we can talk it through in the morning, you think, trying not to get your hopes up. Maybe we can apologize and move on. 

When you wake up the next morning, his bed has been slept in, left unmade while he’s probably in the bathroom. The curtain is pulled back; an excellent sign that he’s ready to hear your apology, and possibly forgive you. As soon as he comes back, you’ll give it a shot. 

“Gonna be quiet around here for a bit without your buddy, huh?” Mandy says from the doorway. She walks over to Eddie’s bed and starts stripping the sheets. “You get to say goodbye?”

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ll have to catch him before he leaves.”

Mandy’s brows furrow in confusion. “Honey, his uncle came and got him an hour ago.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t tell you?”

All you can do is shake your head.

“Probably didn’t wanna wake you. I’m sure he’ll stop by and visit.” Mandy curls the sheets into a ball and tucks them under her arm. “I’ll be back with breakfast and meds.”

As soon as she’s gone, you burst into tears. Eddie left without saying goodbye. He left thinking you don’t care about him or believe in him. He left without his Sunshine.

--

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